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The Dance of Clay

Read the story...

This is a letter to my clients with initial thoughts on their commission.

After speaking with you both on the phone last week the first thing that came to me was this; How can you shine like gold when so much has happened to tarnish you? So I began to look for the hope in despair, the life from the death, the smile inside the tear. It’s not very hard to find. All you have to do is to live. And live deliberately as the great poet penned it.

And you have done that. In the face of great passion and grievous violence,
in the glare of God’s immeasurable kindness and his humbling justices you have dared to live.
Live out loud, as it were.

So my question is answered. You are inspiration that song or word could not
hope to enhance, but I listened and read them anyway. The first thing I stumbled across was
this:

April is the cruelest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land;
mixing memory and desire; stirring dull roots with spring rain.

WOW.

For this son was dead and is alive, was lost and is found. Have we all
not lived this?

And did we ever look at our families, kids shouting in the basement, grown
ups at the dinner table, as we watch it all from over a pile of dishes and not know – This is none other
than the house of God and this is the gate of heaven.

“I hope you dance,” we bought this book and CD for our son with the same
hopes for him as I’m sure you have for yourselves.

The list is endless, but they only underline the message that you two, three, four bring to all who know you.
Although we were sent from the garden you have brought it with you and made it your own. You fashion it to
please yourselves and in so doing please your God. I think he’d like your garden. You are the tree in the
meadow.

The truly silent, who keep apart,
He is like a tree grown in a meadow.
It greens, it doubles it’s yield
it stands in front of it’s lord
It’s fruit is sweet it’s shade delightful.
It’s end comes in the garden.

Are you wondering just how big this painting is by now? It’s still the same
size. It is simply the beginning of your story that I tried to capture. The
beginning of all our story’s. The Dance of Clay.

Two figures. Supporting one another. Struggling out of the clay from
which they are shaped. United, as they will always be, one indefinable from the other clamoring
toward the light. Creating themselves from the discord and rhythm of life by the dance of the
potter’s hand.

That’s what I was thinking.
If your thinking differently that’s OK.

Call me.