Last week, as my cold gently dribbled its way to completion, and I was still opting for solitary and peaceful Christmas preparations, the outer world began to beckon in compelling ways. Important meetings – re/Walter Anderson – were called that I simply had to attend: three in as many days. Then a birthday invitation, and and a very dear friend – not seen in over a year – was in town. My germs excused me from the birthday lunch, but everyone else seemed to want me regardless. Especially the friend, who opened his arms and said, “I want it all!”
At the time my all seemed not much. But I let myself be embraced as I was. I welcomed him into my haven and allowed the assembled works of my hands do the talking. My friend walked around and received what I had received over many moments of solitary creating. He was happy and wanted nothing more, just to dwell for a short time in the light-filled studio of a fellow artist. For he, too, is an artist who gives what he has been given. He, too, must abide in the solitary space of his creative life in order for the gift to go forth and touch other lives.
So though I was sure I had little to offer when he first arrived, by the time he walked through my door and away, his happiness told me that he had received the most meaningful of gifts: confirmation of his own artistic imperative. He also carried with him a dancing angel formed out of wire – formed out of solitude: my gift to my self.
A Dance of Balance 