Walking Away

There was a time when I thought nature was fragile, when I thought humans were fragile. Twigs and bones can be broken with little effort. Leaves and muscles can be torn, and land and skin can be burned. Besides our vulnerable physicality, as humans, we are composed of hearts that are easily broken, minds that are easily influenced, and feelings that are easily hurt. Sometimes even the smallest tragedies seem impossible to overcome.

But the truth is that nature is not that fragile, and neither are we. After impossible catastrophes, entire populations of trees and people eventually flourish again, even more resilient for the destruction. Yes, healing takes time, effort, and faith. And I suppose we never walk away from broken bones or broken hearts scarless. But the truth is that our bodies and spirits want to survive, and eventually, we do walk away.

A Simple Choice

I talk a lot about weather and listening to voices. So at the risk of sounding like a schizophrenic meteorologist, well, here I go again.

Do you ever have those times where something simple, that you really already know, hits you so hard and so clearly that you feel like you need to go tell the whole world about it? Well, this weekend I had one of those times. I've been dealing with some self-pity lately--I'm not good enough, I'll never be this or that way, Everyone on the road is driving like crazies because they hate me so I'm going to take it personally, etc. Anyway, I got really down. And then I realized that the voice I was listening to, the one that was telling me those things, doesn't want me to be happy. In fact, it wants me to be eternally miserable.

So it boils down to this. In a world where everything is said to be relative, I submit that there are two absolutes. There is a good and there is an evil. One tells us that we are divine, that we can change, and what's more, it's worth it. The other has encouraged my self-depricating thinking and every other filthy, demeaning, evil thing in this world. In every decision I make, I am listening to one voice or the other. It comes down to a choice between listening to that which promises me everlasting joy and that which desires my everlasting misery.

Trusting what I know of both, the decision is not that hard. I just have to make the choice. And it really is that simple.

Colors

Holi, the Festival of Colors, is a Krishna religious celebration recognizing the end of winter and God and good in the world in general. There is a countdown and then everyone throws cornstarch (pigmented with probably-toxic chemicals that combine into a nice purple color into your nose) into the air. At the end, everyone is covered in bright yellow, purple, pink, green, and orange. That moment is incredible. The air, the people, and the ground are brightly colored and beautiful. Then the colors start to combine into dark purple, maroon, and brown, and their striking intensity is lost. Someone remarked that it's sad that as the pigments mix together they just become brown and dull.

But something else happens when those colors mix. Everyone leaves looking the same. Whatever they were wearing when they came, whatever color their hair or skin is, they are now a strange melange of subtractive color. It's the same thing that happens when the bright colors of fall turn brown and fall to the ground. Trees are left to their bare essentials--no longer defined by their superficial assets. They are still identifiable by their size and structure, but there is something wonderful about the simplicity of a wintertime tree. I've taken time to appreciate their vivid,colorful spring, summer, and fall selves, but I've never thought much about how the beauty of the leafless time also ends.

Class

I will be teaching a watercolor class at Roberts Arts and Crafts on friday evenings during the month of April! If you or anyone you know might be interested, you can register at the customer service desk at Roberts or contact me (casamahela@msn.com) for further information. It'll be fun!

The Voices That Really Matter

I was talking with some friends and thinking about my last post, and I realized that the fleeting voices of fall are, in the long term, not fleeting at all. In this part of the world, the cycle of deciduous trees is as dependable as the sunrise. Though their vibrant colors don't last for long, they will always come back. I can depend on that.

My life, and yours too probably, is constantly injected with voices we can't depend on--voices that won't stand the test of time. Eventually, someone will play a more creative commercial, someone will write a catchier song, someone will create a more intriguing blog. In such an environment, how do we pick out the voices that really matter? I guess that's why those voices seem fleeting--because if we're not watching for them, they pass right by.

So I don't know about you, but I think maybe it's time for me to turn off Hulu, put down my newspaper, and ignore the billboards. I think it is time to listen to the voices I can depend on--the ones that direct my heart to the One Voice that actually matters.

Necessary Somehow

I'm shy, and tonight I had to call my mom and get a pep talk before going through a line at a wedding. I did it (awkwardly), and as the night went on I even started a conversation with someone I didn't know. She lives in Germany and is visiting the United States for five weeks. I learned her name, what she was studying, and what she was planning to do during her time here. None of that information will come in handy someday. In fact, I probably won't ever see her again. And yet, it was necessary somehow. It was constructive.

I have spent some time thinking about why it is important to listen to the fleeting voices in life. Or at least why it's important to me. A few years ago, I tried really hard to not listen. Change is hard, and I got fed up with meeting people that would just move on and out of my life within a matter of months. I decided not to engage in any unnecessary interactions, and I checked out because I was certain that I didn't need short-term people in my life.

I struggled. A lot. I hit some kind of rock bottom, and it wasn't til then that I realized I was missing out on something essential to human nature. I didn't want to admit that I needed other people, but I do. I need other people even if they are only in my life for ten minutes. I need to have those awkward conversations at weddings with people I won't see again. I'm sure I could come up with a list of reasons why listening to the fleeting voices is a good idea. But for me, it is enough to know that life is better when I do. Even if it takes a few pep talks along the way.

Artist Statement for Paintings Below

Every fall, the days get shorter, the temperatures get cooler, and I wonder if I have stocked up enough sunlight to make it through yet another winter. And then it happens. The trees burst into reds, oranges, and yellows, mirroring the quickly dying summer heat. This transformation, like so much of nature, feels magical. In fact, it feels divine.

In attempting to preserve these ephemeral colors, their fleeting voices have taught me about the faith it takes to bloom every spring, knowing that they will die in the fall. They have taught me that sometimes it’s okay to be loud and let the world know you’re there. They have taught me that the landscape becomes even more amazing when it is composed of a variety of colors and shapes. They have reminded me that the fact that we—they and I—are not here, now, by accident.

I painted these colors to preserve them—to remind me of the magic of the season that always seems too short. In the end, they remind me that there is always magic in the natural world. More importantly, they remind me to look for it.

Note: I borrowed the phrase “desperate colors of fall” from Regina Spektor’s The Sword and The Pen:

“. . . for those who still can recall/the desperate colors of fall/the sweet caresses of may/I hope they happen someday . . . ”