I looked out the window at the black clouds ahead of us. I opened the back window and smelled the rain. You could smell the rain in the desert even before a drop fell. I closed my eyes. I held my hand out and felt the first drop. It was like a kiss. The sky was kissing me. It was a nice thought. It was something Dante would have thought. I felt another drop and then another. A kiss. A kiss. And then another kiss.
Last set from Lake Scott! What a beautiful morning that was. The cloud cover made things even more impressive by delaying and softening the sunrise. If you’d like to read about my experience there, please click here.
This poem tells of the swirling feelings of expectation, disappointment, and wonder that are part of putting your work on view for others. No matter how small or relatively inconsequential that piece may be, the artist identifies it as a part of himself or herself and its rejection or acceptance feels personal.
Nothing is more precious than the moment in which empathy is established between the audience and the artist. Sometimes the artist doesn’t even know that we have reached someone, but when we do find out, we can’t help but be exhilarated or moved. If a work speaks deeply to one person that is enough validation for creating it.
Thirty-nine years of my life had passed before I understood that clouds were not my enemy; that they were beautiful, and that I needed them. I suppose this, for me, marked the beginning of wisdom. Life is short.
“Aren’t the clouds beautiful? They look like big balls of cotton… I could just lie here all day, and watch them drift by… If you use your imagination, you can see lots of things in the cloud formations… What do you think you see, Linus?”
“Well, those clouds up there look like the map of the British Honduras on the Caribbean… That cloud up there looks a little like the profile of Thomas Eakins, the famous painter and sculptor… And that group of clouds over there gives me the impression of the stoning of Stephen… I can see the apostle Paul standing there to one side…”
“Uh huh… That’s very good… What do you see in the clouds, Charlie Brown?”
“Well, I was going to say I saw a ducky and a horsie, but I changed my mind!”
The woman looks around and thinks: ‘there cannot ever have been a spring more beautiful than this. I did not know until now that clouds could be like this. I did not know that the sky is the sea and that clouds are the souls of happy ships, sunk long ago. I did not know that the wind could be tender, like hands as they caress – what did I know – until now?