I’m discovering that most of you artists work better when you have fewer resources. At least that’s the way it is for Kathie. I remember the day we drove to
Cade’s Cove in the Smokies for an evening paint, only to discover that she left
her palette at home. With a few tubes in her backpack and the flat, glass-like
surface of a CD case for mixing (found in the car floorboard), she forged
ahead. It seems that the creativity it took to get set up primed her
inspiration pump.
Artists need very little, if anything… with the exception of
Space.
Callaway Gardens is a manicured and babied land of
gardens. I'll bet the entire season of Spring is birthed here before spreading across the
remaining states. New Green. Black Dirt. Non-Stop bird song. It’s breathtaking…
and a little too perfect.
Our interior senses are more inclined toward Process,
Unfolding and Not-Quite-Yet. So, with floppy blue hat and a brush clinched between
her teeth, Kathie motions me toward the property’s working vegetable garden, a
wide expanse of slow but active production.
This week I’ll read and write a bit, but my prime job is to
be her Sherpa. Hauling art supplies from car to designated spot of the moment.
She can do it all, but she likes me and gives me the job. Yet, being a Sherpa is
more about creating space or, better said, getting out of the way. We’ve
had countless discussions (I’d rather not say arguments in this letter) about my knack for subtly pushing her to
begin. I forget about the space thing easily. I’m a slow learner.
But a Sherpa’s most important work has nothing to do with manual
labor. A Sherpa’s most important work is this: Don’t miss the moment.
So often service
impedes my ability to mature, to ripen. Paradoxically, I can preoccupy myself
with being available so much that it weakens my ability to be truly available
in the moment. Missing the
opportunity to live out of a centered place within myself can actually extract the beautiful gift of
space.
Obviously this is not an exclusive lesson for the spouses of
artists. It’s actually a call for me to be me… an artist too. And here is
another discover I am making: Artists love artists.
Be who you is, cuz if you ain’t who you is, you is who you
ain’t.
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