By: Amelia Rose
Like watercolors my thoughts swirl
I cannot follow a pattern or a single line
For all the paint that winds around the page
I am a painter
About to start a new work
I've been looking forward to this opportunity for years
It's my time to shine
A patron has called on me to create for him a splendid masterpiece
That has the potential to be recognized and celebrated by many
But now that my time has come,
I do not know what to paint.
I've had ideas for awhile, about what I'd want this painting to include
I made a couple preliminary sketches
But now, I cannot decide.
My patron has given me freedom
To choose for myself what to paint
No boundaries, no requirements, no limitations
Just whatever I want this work to be
With one exception: it is all subject to his approval.
But he trusts my judgement, better than even I trust it.
I asked those close to me what they thought I should paint
But every opinion was different; conflicting
And now I do not know what to do.
I have my blank canvas before me,
But I only get one.
I must make it worth my patron's time and money.
Thoughts, fears mingle in my mind.
What if things don't work out right?
What if I spill paint on my only canvas?
What if someone comes to the door,
Or the phone rings and startles me while I'm working
And I make an unintended mark in a place I didn't expect.
I'd have to work it into the picture, I suppose.
But again, what if my patron, my sponsor tells me to add something
I'd never thought of; anticipated
What if I don't know how to paint it in?
Or worse, what if he tells me to take away something
I'd always wanted to include in my masterpiece?
I'd have to do it. I'd want to do it,
For my sponsor knows more about what my audience wants and needs from me. But still, it would break my heart.
I'm just scared.
Scared and unsure.
But I must stop this.
Where do all my insecurities get me?
I must have faith.
I am no longer an apprentice.
I must have faith that my teacher taught me how to handle my brush well enough.
I must have faith that my patron will watch over my work and will guide me to know if I err.
I must have faith in myself. That my judgement is good, my abilities strong.
I must have faith. I must have confidence.
I must put aside my fears.
I am the painter.
I will paint my canvas as I like it, incorporate new ideas and people into my painting as they come.
I must put aside my fears and just--begin.
My patron trusts in me, therefore I will follow his example and trust in myself.
I will make my painting happen,
One brushstroke at a time.
Saturday, November 29, 2008
The Tree At the End of the Lane
by: Amelia Rose
At the end of the lane
There stands a tree
That marks the street
On which to turn
To those that might not otherwise see
Every year the seasons come
And take it through its life
Then spring and fall
That change it in its blithe
Spring comes first and hallows it
Gives life to that fair tree
Blooms its blossoms
Then bursts with green
With beautiful pastels that quite agree
Where spring brings life, autumn brings death
A vivid, vibrant one at that
The leaves change to their many fall hues
They rid themselves of greens and blues
Falling, the breeze keeps them adrift
But now as I look at the tree on my lane
The leaves have all long gone.
Tall and firm it stands alone
Far and wide its branches stretch
To fill the open space
I gaze at the empty, leafless tree.
Tall and looming, its shadows reflect
Eerie monsters and shapes.
But it still marks the place to turn to the house.
And gives me hope that the leaves will return
In bright color and splendor
Just as they always do
The tree, like we,
Goes through many changes in the course of a year
But still, no matter what decorates its upper branches,
Underneath, the stark, stout trunk remains untouched
As it was; as it still is;
One of God's many beautiful creations.
The tree is a marker; a reminder; a guide
Through rain and sun and ice and snow
Its roots keep it firmly planted on solid ground
And it still marks the place
Where my journey will turn
It fulfills the service it was destined to give
That not even a delicate flower could do in its place
No one can be you as well as you can. We all, each of us has an important gift to share with the world. No one but you can give your gift in just the way you do.
So don't give up.
The world needs you.
Posted by A. Rose at 11:31 PM