The spot was dark, bleeding over and around the other brilliant colors in the painting. Somehow the flaw had overcome the lighter shades, and ran like rivulets throughout the work. It was heart-wrenching for the painter to watch his ideal marred. The consequences were dire, yet even so he could not bear to throw this work away. There was still beauty and story to be found in it.
The overall damage was irreparable it seemed. All of his works were to be reviewed, including this one. Would he be judged for the flaw, or the incredible beauty still within this masterpiece, and in his other works? Only time would tell, for there seemed to be raging in the art world a thunderous tug-of-war for who would control the standards and values that would determine how all art would be taught, judged, displayed, allowed. It was a tense time. Still the artist held true to his values, and with honesty revealed his reflection and understanding of beauty as he saw it. Flaws and all.
It was an interesting fight really. One fought with a double-edged sword, or perhaps a double standard, for those who would judge him were themselves imperfect artists as well. And some not artists at all! But ones who focused on specific types of flaws that deemed another an enemy of sorts, the very root of all that was wrong in the world. It mattered not that people in their own camp had painted, or experienced, the exact same types of imperfections, yet his flaws were somehow more offensive. It seemed odd to him, and sad, as relationships were divided because of it. Focusing on flaws tended to narrow one’s vision, and dull one’s eyes to the great beauty and glorious good still being created in the world. It was a conundrum. Yes, a sad one at that.
Still the artist painted on. There was a spirit that drove him to find beauty and hope in the mundane, to bring it to life for others to see, in those hidden things that surrounded them, wonders so easily missed as they rushed on by. It brought him great joy, even in his own imperfection. He endeavored to improve, to learn from his mistakes, to rectify misrepresentations if his rendering did not give right tribute to his subject. He did his best, learned to live with his limitations, and to grow beyond them. He hoped the world would cast not away the foundational values of art, but would hold tightly to learning how to blend colors, correct and forgive one another’s failings and those unexpected flaws that randomly appeared, and encourage dialogue among all. It was a place to practice love in an oft unloving world. With a courage from beyond himself, he displayed his works; and walked away, to paint again.
4 thoughts on “Flawed Paintings”
Wow! I’ve reread this several times, trying to make this message come clear to me. I think I will have to let it roll around in my head a bit longer.
But one thing I am clear on; I admire the artist and his perception, confidence and courage.
Thank you for your thoughts, Steff. This is an example of how the LORD unfolds the writing as I scribe it down . . . It just started with the initial thought. And makes me curious what others, too, would see in these words. 💞
I really enjoyed this one Sherry!
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Thank you, Rick! Love you brother! 💞