A while ago, while working on a vocabulary listing for an art class a dear friend of mine was taking I started to draw parallels between art and life. It dawned on me that we are each an artist on our own, as brilliant as Leonardo da Vinci or as bizarre as Vincent Van Gogh toward the end of his life. At birth we are a fresh primed canvas waiting to become a masterpiece… or a total disaster, for the most part the choice is ours. Out pallet rests within our soul, and our brushes reside in our heart. We have the tools; it is up to us how we use them. Like many masterpieces of art, we are capable of being reworked many times till we get it right. We seldom get it right the first attempt, mandating that we stick with it till we figure it out. It is when we give up on our canvas that we become just another piece of obscure art gathering dust in a desolate corner. However when we have the tenacity to re-work our canvas repeatedly until we get it right we will be worthy of being hung in the Louvre. You see, the choice is really ours, dusty corner or museum masterpiece. Our pallet never runs dry, and our brushes remain eternally supple, we just need to be willing to use them.
McGoo's Meanderings 