A couple of weeks ago, a gallery employee commented on what she loved about a painting. She gave a detailed and thoughtful expression of why and I agreed with her, that I loved the same detail in the piece, in the colors.

I thanked her for going a little bit farther than necessary. Rather than just saying, “I like that one or that piece is nice.” she articulated in a way that gave power to the painting, even peace.

I told her I believe that’s a treasure, when a person notices something and expresses in words the evidence that you have been truly “seen and known”.

That’s a true gift to me. Something that sticks.

Just telling someone the truth you’ve observed.

Yesterday, after the most beautiful walk with the music of Andrew Peterson to add to the mellow of me, I paused in the yard. I moved the withered pansies from the statue and I noticed the weathering of the cement, the spots brown from age and the places cracked by icy days or maybe summer heat.

I put the birds together, the dove and the cardinal, thinking stoic and a little unpredictable, a story I kinda love.

As January invites, there are inventories I’m taking. Quietly considering where this journey should go, art and writing, writing and art.

For the life of me, I can’t bear to let one go.

More importantly, I don’t think God is telling me so.

Instead, I feel a different pull toward a different audience. So far, really just a handful of people who relate to what I feel is courageously honest in my painting and in my essays or posts.

I created an Instagram post to determine “my ideal client”. I asked a couple of questions as a way to go forward.

What would you like to see more of ?

I added photos of each, women/angels, landscapes and abstracts?

And this:

I left it all there and the algorithm based traffic and responses were a bit of a tiny ripple.

On my walk, I thought about it all. About my tendency to only go just so far in connecting because of fear of not connecting, fear of rejection.

Fear of showing up and showing up prepared and yet, not being seen.

I thought of the wisdom of my children who are keen observers (often honest).

One saying “show up confident” and the other saying “don’t be negative when you talk about your art”.

Thought of the morsels of truth they add to the big barrel of not so true, just always realities of this work, this calling to “offer hope”.

I woke with clarity this morning as the sun gave my window a welcome glow.

I slept well and there was a redemptive arc forming in the story I’ve been telling myself.

I discovered more beauty in the words of others.

Words prompted by my IG question:

“You know what keeps me coming back? Your honesty! I enjoyed our brief talk at the She Speaks conference this summer. You have a very open and transparent way that makes it easy to relate and connect with you! I enjoy seeing the artwork (all different kinds) but I’m not a passionate lover of art. As someone who is struggling to find my own way in my own areas, I can however relate to the highs and lows that you openly share! I followed then out of curiosity about the work which you spoke about, but now I follow because I’ve really enjoyed seeing the winding road that is your journey. It is interesting to see your processes. As well as where the Lord might be moving in you next.”

Other comments were just as kind. An equal mix of people who like the mix of subjects I paint.

Interesting, so very.

The landscapes were referred to as “soulscapes”.

One comment suggested whatever I paint, continue to paint from the soul of me.

A couple more commented on the honesty in my sharing of my honest thoughts stemming from times I hear from God.

Yesterday, I saw a friend at church, a fairly new one. We connected and hugged and she paused mid-sentence.

“Your eyes are so blue.” She said sweetly.

I smiled, told her I used to believe that, adding it’s been a while since I loved the blue.

She smiled.

I painted into the hours of dusk. A piece I put to the side, entitled “The Offering” was lacking a story I noticed.

It was dull.

I changed the position and posture of the figure, had her cradle the vase more gently and on a whim, her gown went from ivory to blue.

More confident and still quiet.

Still herself despite the critics or the questions of her own.

Strangely, I’ve never given the name “Quiet Confidence” to a painting.

She may be the one.

And while he was at Bethany in the house of Simon the leper, as he was reclining at table, a woman came with an alabaster flask of ointment of pure nard, very costly, and she broke the flask and poured it over his head. There were some who said to themselves indignantly, “Why was the ointment wasted like that? For this ointment could have been sold for more than three hundred denarii and given to the poor.”

And they scolded her.

For you always have the poor with you, and whenever you want, you can do good for them. But you will not always have me.

She has done what she could; she has anointed my body beforehand for burial. And truly, I say to you, wherever the gospel is proclaimed in the whole world,

what she has done will be told in memory of her.”
‭‭Mark‬ ‭14‬:‭3‬-‭5‬, ‭7‬-‭9‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Maybe…no, surely that’s a word for us all.

Do confidently what you can. These choices and gifts will be told in memory of you.

Be who you are, fully seen and known.

May it be so.

Continue and believe.

You are so very loved.