I know this might be an odd item to post for Easter, but the last thing I expected to get out of a writing program was the discovery of a haunting painter. (Silly, as I ignored the fact that the class was in the Milton Rhodes Center for the Arts in Winston-Salem, NC)
Behind the lecturer was this painting entitled The Gathering.
Intense, no? I’ve seen a few graveyards like this, but not in this kind of light.
As great as the lecture was, I found myself studying this painting more than paying attention to the speaker. And I wasn’t alone. A couple of us took photos and one woman had already looked up the artist online at:
He explores the delicate polarity of life by showcasing nature before a backdrop of mist and manufactured landscapes.
This Asheville artist has me inspired.
Go to his site and check out more.
Oh, and . . .
Anyone who knows the Harry Potter story remembers his Cloak of Invisibility that turns out to be one of three objects that helps him cheat death.
Not so fast.
Three years ago, I traded cars. Since the change, I’ve lost count of how many close calls I’ve had. (Although it is a newer model, it is not so new that I drive more cautiously than normal.) I’ve have more near collisions in the last year than I have had in my last four decades of driving. People don’t see me, even when I’m the only other car on the road or right in front of them. I feel as if my car is wearing an invisibility cloak. It’s probably nothing to do with the car itself, but my energy. My field has shrunk so small that I’ve become invisible.
Many people have been scuttling through their lives under invisibility cloaks. They want to quietly fly under the radar. They’ve retreated to their caves to avoid the new energies stirred up by recent world events. Folks have been keeping close to home, feeling safe in their nests.
I have too. My senior dog is slowing inching his way to his end. The old boy is not ill, but in steady decline. Yet I need to go to work, do errands, or just get out of the nest for a change of energy. Still, I find that I don’t want to leave my comfort zone.
The longer I stay cocooned, the smaller my energy shrinks. I risk becoming invisible. Right now, I feel as if I would go unseen by a drone in the middle of a salt flat. For now, that is fine. But driving? Short of painting my car a brighter color, I can use thought, movement, and creative visualization to grow my energy. And the horn. I’ve used that more than ever.
Being invisible doesn’t always keep us safe. In today’s climate, we would all like to be seen and heard. When we aren’t, we can shift our own energy to step out into the open, wear colorful clothing, look both ways – more than once – and say a little prayer before crossing the road. You might not be invisible to the unseen.