WINDOWS TO SOMEWHERE

The light from the north facing windows flooded into the artist’s studio illuminating the work space. On the flat surface of the painting table lay a gesso covered board measuring 30” x 36” that had served as a covering when she had worked on other smaller paintings on that surface. Those smaller paintings were now finished, and now she stood gazing at the gesso covered board seeing windows appearing on the board and encouraging her to look deeper, so she did. This act of artistic looking birthed the thought of these windows opening somewhere.

As she continued watching, the emerging painting seemed to be painting itself, or perhaps not. It was simultaneously inspiring and unsettling. There were rectangular forms from the smaller paintings but she was seeing more forms appear than were the leavings of the previous smaller paintings. Puzzling and wondrous, she pondered and continued watching.

It was as if the painting were beckoning to her. She answered. She picked up a soft, inch wide brush and let the visionary energy guide her. In swift, sure strokes of the brush, she brought more windows forth on the board’s surface. These were strong and vital. A new painting was being born. She worked rapidly outlining windows of different sizes and colors. Then she switched brushes and colors seeking to illuminate the energy field surrounding these windows.

She stepped back and moved the freshly painted board to a large standing easel to watch the paint she had just applied dry. She loved this part of the process of creating a painting. Her deceased mother, a fellow artist, once said to her, “As you watch the paint dry, listen to what the painting tells you.” So, sitting in her mother’s inherited studio rocking chair, she rocked, watched, and listened.

After a while, she heard the painting whisper in her mind, “Touch me.”

That startled her, but she did as directed and touched the first window that had materialized. There was a flash of intense light, and she was no longer in her studio. She found herself standing in a field of tall blossoming sunflowers. The painting was poised above eye-level in the air among the sunflowers as if on an invisible easel.

“See, I took you somewhere,” said the painting stating the obvious.

She wasn’t sure if this voice was in her mind or somehow, she heard it with her ears too, but she decided that an answer from her was needed.

“You did, and a beautiful somewhere it is too,” she answered aloud, while thinking how weird and magical this exchange between her and the painting was. She wondered if she had rocked herself to sleep, and she was dreaming.

She reached out to touch a sunflower stalk. It was solid under her fingers. “How do I get back to the studio?” she mused aloud not expecting an answer; yet an answer came.

“Picture your studio in your mind and touch me,” these directions from the painting resounded in her mind.

The artist pictured her studio and simultaneously touched the painting. There was a flash of intense light and then, she was rocking herself in her mother’s rocking chair in front of the painting in her studio. Curiouser and curiouser, she thought. She still wasn’t sure if being transported to the sunflower field was real or some kind of vivid dream with a message for her. If the experience had been a revelatory dream, what was the message? So many questions swirled in her mind; ruminating on all the possibilities was exhausting. One thing she knew with certainty was the title for this painting: “Windows to Somewhere.”

She stood up and stretched stepping out onto the deck outside her studio overlooking her garden below where she brought to life colorful flowers like marigolds, zinnias, and cosmos, but no sunflowers. There were also a variety of nutritious vegetables which she had planted and were bearing food. Her garden fed her body, mind, and spirit. Thinking about the miraculous beauty and nourishment the garden contained as a result of her efforts made her think that perhaps the forces of creativity were at work in her life embodied in this painting before her. She had lived her life trusting in those forces of creativity, while also realizing that frequently things are not as they seem.

The sun was sinking below the horizon and in the gathering dusk, she realized she was both tired and hungry. She sighed and made her way back into her sweet home she shared with Abu her black and white cat. She walked through the studio into the kitchen with Abu following. She filled Abu’s bowl first, and as he chomped away at his food, the artist made a salad from the garden’s bounty and also ate. When Abu finished, he wandered off toward the bedroom. She smiled knowing she would find him abed, cleaning himself in preparation for sleep. She cleaned up their supper dishes and made her ablutions in the bathroom off the bedroom. Crawling into bed with Abu snuggled at her feet, she sank into a deep sleep.

The morning sun shattered the night. The artist awoke refreshed and ready for whatever would happen next. Practicing the yoga sun salutation and meditation on the deck followed with sweet coffee was her regular morning routine. So, after washing up, she picked up her yoga mat from a corner in the studio and was walking past the painting on the easel onto the deck, when she heard the painting whisper loudly, “Good morning,” even though she hadn’t been looking directly at it. Although this was indeed odd, she stopped and nodded at the painting acknowledging its greeting. She continued onto the deck to engage in her morning yoga and meditation.

Later, artist’s journal and pen on her lap and coffee in hand, she sat in her mother’s rocking chair sipping her coffee, observing and pondering over all that had happened. She accepted that somehow she had been transported once by “Windows to Somewhere.” She wondered, would that happen again? If so, what form would that take? Where would she go? Truly, things with this painting were not what they seemed. There were mysterious forces at work.

She sighed and smiled realizing she had no answers to these questions. In some ways, it didn’t matter because what was important to her was to continue to paint in order to capture the beauty and spirit of the world around her, come what may. So, she finished her coffee, drew a quick sketch of her garden in her journal, and made her way into her studio to start to work on a new painting inspired by the brilliant colors in her garden.

Truly, only time would tell what was to be.