ART BARN

 (Continuing)

He wasn't going to panic. He was going to lean slowly to the right.

No longer were there thoughts of presence, efforts made to spiritually connect with all that lit with bright energy the rocky forests surrounding the lake. Now presence meant staying aware of the counterbalancing elements at his disposal to draw him toward the right and into balance before spilling himself into the cold waters out at the center where the depths demanded an immediacy, an alertness by no means still.

He breathed and leaned and reached over the side with the paddle, then with a quick shift of his bottom in the seat and one lunging slice through the water with the bright yellow blade he set himself to rights and continued onward in pursuit of the stand of pines, the Golden Eagle.

His heart was charged and thumped at twice the pace now and he hollered out just once with a native power, primitive and sharp, announcing his victory over the ominous deep and dangerous. Yes, this was the adventure he wanted, maybe just this much and not a whole lot more.

The day on his own flew past like a dream and although it offered all that he had wanted, he found himself sorrowful and somewhat stingy to offer details the next evening as he sat at the table drinking wine and eating pot pies with his art friend Laura. The table was set beautifully, with candles lit and Chardonnay chilling in a bucket of ice to shnazz up the frozen dinners and instant biscuits she'd prepared.

As usual she was full of questions.

Before moving into the city and not too long after completing his cabin build a few years back, he'd had the thought to sign up for a painting class in town. It was a rich experience with participants ranging from their teens well into their seventies. The group was hosted by a retired professor with wild gray hair who had managed to receive some acclaim among Midwestern art circles as a painter and lecturer. 

The professor specialized in American Impressionism and had done doctoral work on renowned painters like George Innes, Thomas Moran and Daniel Garber. Large canvases depicting hunting dogs and farmhouses and turn-of-the-century storefronts were hung about the meeting space, giving it a warmth and natural wonder, blending both light and color, a glowing world without and within.

The group met twice weekly in an oversized barn at the back of the professors thirty acre farm and Laura, having arrived late with much kerfuffle, took up the station beside his and seemingly out of blind habit made that her spot for the duration of the class. Never having done much painting, it was his plan to sit along the outskirts of the group, give himself plenty of space where no one could peer over at his monstrous efforts to bring form and beauty to the canvas. Now here she was and meant to stay with little he could do but smile.

Upon that occasion, as with many others, he took some degree of interest at this tendency of his; a desire to be present and cordial enough in a group setting, but overall to be able to keep a certain comfortable distance and do his own thing. He wanted to venture into new territory and get away from the emotional pressures of ministry and counseling. Being in the people business was indeed something he treasured and he also knew the tremendous value of self-care and finding ways to destress and reconnect with wordless, renewing life.

But as he would soon learn that day, Laura was not having it.