Work
in Progress
“We're
all a little weird. And life is a little weird. And when we find
someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with
them, and fall into mutually satisfying weirdness—and call it
love—true love.”
Robert
Fulghrum (True Love)
My friend, Rebecca, is
fond of saying, “She's just not normal.” Whenever she says that,
there is great fondness in her voice. Anyone can tell that being “not
normal” carries a mixture of love and pride. I haven't yet
discovered what “normal” is, but I have a feeling we don't see it
very often. We are all somewhere on a spectrum of weirdness.
I was at an art opening
for a local artist named Bob Carr just last night. He uses mixed
media, lots of cut paper and even old dress pattern pieces in his
collages. They are quite interesting. At some point, he became
fascinated with New York socialite and fashion icon, Iris Barrel
Apfel, who is now in her 90's and still going strong. Lots of his
canvases featured drawings of Iris in her big glasses, and mounds of
jewelry, with lots of colorful paper strips and such around her. Now,
how weird is that for a middle-aged Alabama man to be so inspired by
a nonagenarian New York socialite that he would devote six or seven
canvasses to her? It certainly worked for him; she got his creative
juices flowing.
I know another local clay
artist, who made nothing but dragons for an entire year—big ones,
small ones, blue ones, friendly- and unfriendly-looking dragons. I
have another artist friend, who drips paint down broom handles—layers
and layers of paint, running down...Like I say, spectrum.
I guess there is a
“normal” person, but one wonders exactly what they do. Maybe
accountants, bankers, engineers and financial analysts qualify as
typical. They have to be accurate and accountable for every number,
bolt, bid and ledger, or people's lives are affected. But you have to
admit that it takes a certain amount of “not normal” to be
willing to run into a burning building to save a stranger, or
volunteer to march onto a battlefield in a foreign country, or to run
toward, rather than away from, the sound of shots being fired. You
have to be a bit weird, I think, to walk into a hospital and staunch
the flow of blood from a stab victim, or cut into someone's brain to
remove a tumor. Regular people don't do such things—assuming there
is such a thing as “regular people.”
Here's my theory—we're
all slightly weird for a reason. We have a particular slot to fill in
the great scheme of things that only we can fill. Our singular color
and texture is needed in the great tapestry of life. And, we're all a
work in progress.
In the Spirit,
Jane
No comments:
Post a Comment