Sunday, April 11, 2010

My First Masterpiece

As long as I can remember, I’ve loved art, and Michelangelo was my first favorite. I remember looking through the pages of my family Bible, studying the images from the Sistine Chapel and admiring his sculptures. My favorite was and still is his sculpture of the “Pieta.” The intricacy of Mary’s folded robes and Christ’s curly hair always captured my interest, and I would ponder his gift and abilities. And I wanted to be an artist, but I was not so endowed. When I realized in college that you could major in art history, I knew I’d discovered my path. I may not be able to create these works of art, but I could acquire a level of knowledge and expertise and appreciation far beyond my abilities to create. And I did.
Because I love art so much, I’ve always struggled with purchasing art of any kind to hang in my home. Mere reproductions or mass-produced posters always rang a little hollow for me. I always watch for something unusual, unique. Then I saw this quote in a boutique five years ago. The moment I saw it, I knew I needed it. And its price tag only deterred me for a moment. It has hung in our family room ever since.

God gives mothers the privilege of becoming artists--sculptors co-creating with Him bodies for these spirits. Our bodies instinctively mold their physical bodies until birth. Then, it becomes our job to help mold their souls.
We teach them to eat, to sleep through the night, to hold toys and to smile. These skills lead to sitting, crawling, walking, speaking. We struggle through potty training and sharing. We teach them to pray and to love. And this step of the sculpting removes chunks of marble, big strokes that require mostly maternal energy and time. Now the shape inside the block begins to emerge.
They start school, and the hits with the chisel become smaller, more purposeful—learning to tell the truth, to face failure and rejection, to be grateful. We drive to lessons, concerts, games, friends’ houses, and church. We teach by example. We mold with actions and words. And the original block is no longer recognizable. There’s definitely a figure in there.
As they grow, our strokes become even finer, even more subtle. We are the sounding board, the needed shoulder, the confidante. We brush away tears and bask in triumphs. We step back and evaluate the sculpture with an ever-critical eye. What else do I need to remove? Where are the weak spots? Have I done enough in this area? It’s almost finished.
When the chisel work is complete, out comes the polishing cloth. The sculpture is almost complete. We listen and advise now, moving into the background. But how long will I have to polish it, to refine it, to shine it? Will I ever feel like it’s finished? Will I ever be able to part with my master work? And who will be the one to fall in love with my work of art—and then take it away from the sculptor forever? Will they be good enough? Will they treat my work with respect and awe and love it, even more than I do?
My first masterpiece is complete. My hammer and chisel and brush have rested for a time, and now it’s time to retire the polishing cloth. The angel has emerged, even more beautiful than I imagined.
She’s free at last.




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22 comments:

  1. That made me cry a little bit! It was amazing and beautiful and perfect in every way, just like Heidi! Thanks for writing that. It's quite similar to a post by another blog I read, i think you'd enjoy it. www.dialmforminky.com
    Love you!

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  2. Wow! So beautifully written. You had quite the artistic touch with words!

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  3. That post was perfect, Jen...and just the right thing for someone who is too wired to sleep (having just returned from a long drive home in scary amounts of wind/rain).

    But I feel better now...Thanks to you.

    And your first masterpiece.

    =)

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  4. This was absolutely beautiful...and publishable. Is that a word? Too early in the a.m.... Your daughter is gorgeous!

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  5. This is beautiful post. You have a real talent of expression. And you are a master of creating beautiful children.

    Another thing we have in common - Michaelangelo. I stood in the Sistine Chapel far longer than I though I would...just staring up.

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  6. My oldest daughter is only 6 but this post gave me a lot of hope for the future. I will have to start preparing now for her wedding day, though. Good luck!

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  7. awesome

    It does make me realize that my kids won't be mine forever... and someday I will have to "hand off" these gorgeous masterpieces to another. That's gonna be tough.

    Good luck this week!

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  8. Absolutely breath-taking. Well written my friend. I've thought of you this last week and the fun adventures to happen now & going forward; for your family...and her new family.

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  9. You have an amazing way with words. I loved this post. My oldest is 12 and I've been thinking lately how she has lived 2/3 of her time at home if she goes away to college when she's 18. So now, I'm thinking that I'm 2/3 the way done with my sculpting. I have much more work to do.

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  10. Goosebumps and tears as I read this this morning. Oh Jen...thinking of you and your dear family. Can't wait to see photos of the big day! Beautiful post....

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  11. Of course, I cried. I have loved the quote on your wall, fallen in love with Michaelangelo, and stared in reverent awe at his works. Also, as you know, I am using the fine chisel and will soon be polishing. Sigh... The work you have done is a masterpiece. And we quite admire your 2nd work of art, also. :) Enjoy every minute of today and tomorrow!

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  12. I, too, am an art lover. What a beautiful post - you really should have it written up to give as a gift to your daughter. It will be something she'll treasure and read often as she sculpts and sets free her own angels. And like any beautiful work of art, we fall in love with it ourselves. We want someone to love our work enough to want it for their own, and yet it's so bittersweet to let it go. Oh - I just loved this post! It really touched something in me.

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  13. I'm right there with you on the "Pieta". It is my favorite sculpture. I appreciated your sentiments on the eve of your daughter's marriage.

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  14. I'm not sure we are EVER done. I still need my mom! Thank goodness she still here to teach and listen.

    Beautifully written. What an exciting yet tender time. I look forward to tomorrow.

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  15. Jenny, you're a beautiful writer and I love hearing about the changes and life lessons you're learning about as Heidi is engaged and almost married (tomorrow!). This made me cry a little and remember Heidi all through elementary, jr high and high school. Although I was never best friends with her I always thought of her as a friend and I guess I owe it to you for making her the great person she is. You've done well and she's ready and so are you.

    I have also fallen in love with art this year being in Humanities and I am actually going to take an art history class in the fall. I am so excited and I love art and analyzing it and really breaking it apart to its very core of why this piece is beautiful. If the nursing program wasn't so rigorous here I would minor in either Humanities or Art history.

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  16. Beautiful thoughts, I agree you should give a copy to Heidi, it would be a treasure forever. And don't tuck away those mother tools just yet, the job is never truly done. And besides, I hear they turn into fabulous "grandmother tools" if you keep them polished and ready! :)

    Can't believe the countdown has no more days, only hours. So glad the weather is perfection!

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  17. Wow! Wow. That is just lovely! Thanks

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  18. What beauty in your words! Life's seasons are each special, aren't they? We're in our empty nest season (wrote about it on my blog just today!). Your masterpiece(s) are just that. And all so beautiful. OH! And Michaelangelo's quote: knock my socks off! Blessings to you!

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  19. I am going to copy that down and read it daily. That was so beautiful. Heidi is so beautiful. Thank you for sharing.

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  20. You are a beautiful writer & a wonderful mother. This is an awesome post!

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  21. I have tears in my eyes. Thank you:)

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