It’s interesting that when I share my story with someone, they shake their heads and mutter some sort of expletive.
I’m grateful for where I am.
Our lives paint a picture.
I love wandering through an art museum. I enjoyed exposing my children to creativity and often had books of art open on a display stand in the house. We visited a museum whenever we could and incorporated them into our trips. Now that I either don’t have to take my kids with me or they’re grown up and telling me to quiet down, visiting a museum is a little more serene.
When I look at the art in a museum or a gallery, or in everyday life, emotions rise when contemplating a piece. Sometimes I don’t understand the chaos or randomness, and at other times I am completely taken by the intricacies and detail of what I’m looking at. I can be moved to tears or steaming mad at something I see. I have looked at a piece and thought, I could do that, while others have overwhelmed me with their magnitude. Maybe that’s why so many people connect with art. Our lives can be full of chaos and randomness, intricacies and detail, confidence and insecurity. The mural of our lives intersperse all of these and more. The deep dark ominous colors and the bright cheerful rainbows flow together in a continuous piece of beautiful artwork. When we get the chance to stop and look back, contemplate the beauty, the depth, the emotions carried with every stroke of color, we can appreciate the story it tells–at least we should. Please remember, whatever your story, you are an invaluable and irreplaceable piece of stunning art.