“Don’t know if I could write
like that!” I said to myself---finishing a chapter by Anne Lamott. Every artist feels this way at times. Pressfield says, “If you find yourself asking
yourself (and your friends), "Am I really a writer? Am I really an
artist?" chances are you are. The counterfeit innovator is wildly
self-confident. The real one is scared to death.” In every endeavor the temptation is to look
at the great (famous) artists and say, “I’m no Ansel Adams or Annie Dillard so
I best find something else to occupy my time.
Perhaps I should do something more akin to who I am. I can finally accomplish that goal I have of
watching every Hitchcock movie!” The
comparison is a false comparison.
I’m acquainted with a bunch
of artists. I know thespians and
photographers, painters and roasters (I consider coffee roasting a fine
art). Each of them captures the beauty
of this world and projects it. Each has
a small audience that appreciates their work.
Here in the high desert there is a local theatre which puts on
plays. Many of the actors are astoundingly
good, some uproariously funny. They are
delighting others with their craft.
The gift that each of us has
is uniquely personal. It’s like the
story of the talents. In the biblical
story a master goes on a journey and gives each of his slaves talents “each
according to his ability.” To one he
gave five, one he gave two, and to one he gave one.” So too I have a gift unique to me. The challenge is twofold; to act on investing
it and to be wise in the investing.
My life is made rich by the
artistry around me. It is in these that
I am reminded of beauty---and reminded that there is an Artist as well. We encourage and fuel one another’s passion
when we use our gifts. The world would
be a much more horrid place without them.
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