The Last Supper - Part 2
Trust me. If my girlfriend thought she’d get a good meal out of it, she’d throw me in the slow cooker with a carrot and an onion and think nothing of it except how she‘d seduce a lover or impress her friends with the meal and who may be next. It’s an endless story, but as you can see, I’m still here. Thank you girlfriend. The Hood thanks you.
~~*~~
Later in the evening I got to spend some time talking with the other VIP and turns out she’s an artist. A real artist! And she teaches painting. She was talking about creativity being a difficult thing to teach and learning how to let yourself show through in your art and not being afraid to make mistakes. Kind of like learning to draw outside of the lines because it pushes your boundaries and forces you to stretch. It’s the difference in paint-by-numbers technical stuff and looking at a piece of art that moves you in a way that you can’t express in words.
It’s emotion.
As she spoke, I hinged on every word, opening like a flower to receive everything that came my way and hoarded every word like a thief stealing something they must have to feed their soul.
Those words tickled and taunted a stirring from deep within. An elusive passion standing in the fog, barely recognizable yet notably present. It’s the Super Hero in all of us that’s innocently tucked away by life. It’s something I seek, but fear.
I am not a painter but the artist was unknowingly my teacher that evening. Her simple words unfolded in my mind exposing a labyrinth to navigate and seek that elusive part that lies waiting impatiently to bloom.
You never know the affect a simple conversation will have on someone and I’m grateful to have found her on my path.
~~*~~
Later in the evening I got to spend some time talking with the other VIP and turns out she’s an artist. A real artist! And she teaches painting. She was talking about creativity being a difficult thing to teach and learning how to let yourself show through in your art and not being afraid to make mistakes. Kind of like learning to draw outside of the lines because it pushes your boundaries and forces you to stretch. It’s the difference in paint-by-numbers technical stuff and looking at a piece of art that moves you in a way that you can’t express in words.
It’s emotion.
As she spoke, I hinged on every word, opening like a flower to receive everything that came my way and hoarded every word like a thief stealing something they must have to feed their soul.
Those words tickled and taunted a stirring from deep within. An elusive passion standing in the fog, barely recognizable yet notably present. It’s the Super Hero in all of us that’s innocently tucked away by life. It’s something I seek, but fear.
I am not a painter but the artist was unknowingly my teacher that evening. Her simple words unfolded in my mind exposing a labyrinth to navigate and seek that elusive part that lies waiting impatiently to bloom.
You never know the affect a simple conversation will have on someone and I’m grateful to have found her on my path.
Comments
Judy, I plan to take over the world with all this "excitement and knowledge". Wouldn't you want someone who's big night out is going to a candle party and who can't cook and who writes about their cat thinking they're a Super hero running the world?