My mother helped make me an artist because she taught me to see as one struck by wonder. Through her eyes, I first treasured thistle’s down and oak’s curved limb, leaf’s shadow and bird’s wing, the shapes of clouds and the kind of smiles made only with eyes.
My mother also showed me I was not an artist, not because of what she taught me, definitely not, but because I simply could not see the potential of the creativity in myself. I was blinded by the beauty of her art.
For it moved through genres and mediums and dotted the landscape of my childhood — from oils to colored pencils, yarn and thread to bubbling yeast, from words to photographs.
Her creativity became the fullness of art’s very definition. When I saw I did not possess her patience, spacial intelligence or light touch, when I saw I could not draw or weave or bake like she did, I believed the lie that art did not exist in me, that I was not creative…
About Living the Story, a weekly column at BibleDude:
We write about everyday faith, Living the Story with our hearts turned toward heaven and hands hard at work.
We find the beauty of grace in our tired reflection, in the eyes of laughter and in sorrow’s embrace; the revelation of redemption as we look upon yesterday’s mistakes and declare with the Psalmist, “But God.”
This month at Living the Story, we explore the theme CREATE. On September 30th, Emily Freeman of Chatting at the Sky will join us with her story, an opportunity for you to link up with your own and a chance to win Emily’s new book, A Million Little Ways: Uncover the Art You Were Made to Live.
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