I don’t really want to write right now, but I think it’s good for me…also, I’ve been finding that just because I think I don’t want to do something it doesn’t mean that I actually don’t want to do it. For example:
I bought a set of watercolor paints about a month ago, and I’ve been aching to use them ever since. Except, on Sunday night I didn’t want to. I didn’t really want to do anything though. Reading journal articles was giving me a headache, cooking—eh, nap? I wasn’t tired. So, I decided to avoid my homework, not by wasting time on the internet or taking a nap, but by painting. I really didn’t think I’d be able to paint for more than a half hour. I just didn’t feel very inspired. I got my paints out and the next time I looked at the clock an hour and a half had flown by. I painted a red kite over a grassy hill, a dark and stormy sea, a primary colored apple still life and a very small master copy of one of my favorite Van Gogh paintings. I’ve only done very small watercolors. I need more practice manipulating the paint. I’ve been told that with watercolors you want the water to do the work for you—you hope for a happy accident. But I want to know what works. I think I’m going to continue doing master copies. I don’t want to worry about composition quite yet.
I think it’s strange how I didn’t want to do something I usually love. It was work to get myself to get the paints out, cut the paper, make a tape border…and then I found myself very happy that I had put forth that small effort. Mixing colors, staring at shadows and lines, I tried to get the right tone and shape. A little creativity and my soul feels that much more alive. Sigh. Oh the joys of a little paint and a little water and thick paper.
Quote for thought, from my favorite Anglican: “You don’t have a soul. You are a soul. You have a body.” –C.S. Lewis (Mere Christianity)
What a good thing to remember in an age when for the most part, people ignore their souls. They focus on the here and now and the physical. It’s all they see. Living in such a beautiful place, I find this hard to imagine. Looking at the mountains and the stormy clouds and the way the sunshine plays on them both to me screams “You have a soul!” or, I guess “You are a soul.”—a soul that is more solid than rocks and mountains, more real than the green of the grass and the warmth of the sunshine. To me this says we can only see what we have been shown. The veil on our eyes must be removed. It seems we must daily ask God to let us see Him and His creation as they really are.