I snapped this photo at my brother’s recent retirement party after hearing my daughter call to me:
“Mom, Mom! Look, he’s resting his hand on mine.” Elya giggled.
The photo op proved irresistible.
What a perfect picture of this abstract concept.
When creativity does not flow readily, I need to rest my hand in the palm of the one who created the universe. Like the waves of the sea, inspiration rises and crests, and then recedes, leaving me wiggling my artistic toes in the wet sands of uninspired moments.
In these times of nothingness, I’ve learned to continue to take care of myself until the next epiphany appears.
Yes, the creative process is mysterious—like an elusive lover hiding in the shadows. We sense inspiration is close by and yet our canvas remains as blank as our thoughts.
But we can be assured of this, ideas will return, once again, and we’ll wonder why we found it so difficult to trust in the midst of our artistic sunsets.
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