Paintbrushes

There they sat in a box. A box that I had not opened since I moved out of my parents home and into my first home with my brand new husband. You know the box, the one that holds all of your memoirs and pictures. The box that your parents try and get you to take home and store in your own basement rather than theirs. I hadn't even attempted to open the box until this weekend. My parents came for a visit and that meant cleaning out the storage room. The box was there filled with old pictures, artwork that I had done as a child that could pass for my own children's, my diary where I spoke of being scared to ride the school bus. The box also held yearbooks and love letters The Hubby sent me while in Sumatra when he was only The Boyfriend. At the bottom of the box sat the paintbrushes and an old Degas collage I had done with my great Aunt Margaret. The brushes were in a long, rectangular box wrapped up in brittle paper that showed a frustrated artists attempt at a still-life. I hadn't seen those paintbrushes for years. The same paintbrushes that my aunt held in her hands as she painted in the gardens belonging to Monet, or the beaches of the east coast. Those brushes traveled across the world, helping to express her talent and love of art. She had hoped I would pick up the talent of watercolor. She made it seem so easy, the opposite of the truth. The colors often run together as one goes back to fix and redo what they had first put down on the paper. The beautiful colors become a muddy stain on the paper. Along with the paintbrushes I found a photocopy of an article that she had sent me from 1986. I was eleven years old. It read:
On Reaching Perfection
"Hurry ruins saints as well as artists. They want quick success and they are in such haste to get it that they cannot take time to be true to themselves. And when the madness is upon them they argue that their very haste is a species of integrity...How do you expect to arrive at your own journey if you take the road to another mans city? How do you expect to reach your own perfection by leadings someone else's life? It takes heroic humility to be yourself and to be nobody but the man, or the artist, that God intended you to be.
-Thomas Merton
How I wish my Aunt Margaret was still alive to this day so that I could discuss this with her. It seems so many people don't realize the wisdom and grace of those who are right in front of them. I encourage you to find that person, sit down with them and hear their thoughts on life and love. You may be surprised to find that we all are striving for one common goal. I was beautifully reminded of this by a box of watercolor paintbrushes...lucky me. Many blessing