#anartist'shands

AN ARTIST'S HANDS

We have an artist friend who paints murals on buildings, walls and doors

We love the subjects of his paintings…and his colors we adore.

 

We were talking to him as he painted his latest mural…

a painting with palm trees, clouds and sands…

when I realized I wasn’t listening to the conversation…I was staring at his hands.

 

I thought how his painting is so beautiful…and his brushstrokes so refined

but the hands he holds his brushes in…look similar to mine.

 

I thought if you placed his hands and my hands side by side…there are no definite signs

whose hands were the hands of the artist …and whose can’t color within the lines.

 

Our hands have the same amount of fingers and are relatively the same size…

Perhaps the magic of an artist isn’t in their hands…but in their eyes.

 

But I’m able to see beauty…in the air…the sea…the land

yet the beauty I see and hear and feel doesn’t transfer to my hands.

 

I know he’s been to art school I know he’s worked hard at his art…

but still…a casual observer couldn’t tell our hands apart?

 

Even if I attended the best art schools…I would not be making art…

Perhaps the magic is not in their hands or eyes…perhaps it’s in their heart.

 

But my heart understands beauty…it is stirred and it’s aware

that there is beauty all around us… that you can find it everywhere.

 

By the time that beauty reaches my hands, however,

it becomes hazier…duller…fainter

What then is the difference between an artist and a painter?

 

I believe we’re all born with certain gifts…a spark…a light…a flame

and, by the nature of creation, not all gifts are the same.

 

I was looking for an outward sign…something to help me understand…

But what if the gift is inconspicuous and lies buried in the artist’s hands?

 

Perhaps some of the gifts we’re born with are concealed

Perhaps that’s why you can’t tell our hands apart…

Because some gifts are never meant to be seen…

they’re meant to be experienced…

their meant to stir the heart….

 

That’s why our hands look similar…

when on them my eyes drift

Because I’m able to see the similarities…

but unable to see the gift.

 

That’s why I cannot paint like an artist on a scale both beautiful and grand…

and why I’m happy there are people out there 

 

who are blessed with artists hands.


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