The final line of today's Gospel of Matthew passage (6:21) says, "For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also." What a fitting passage to reflect on, as I look at a beautiful painting of three women drawn by a Liberian artist. My head and heart are fully engaged.
I think of art as a treasure, because it captures something of value that is not easily quantified. Each time I look I notice some other texture or nuance in the shading of the artwork. The women are all in motion. You can see they are interacting, working, gesturing with an almost dance-like grace. I can't see the features on their faces, as if that is not important. It is their action that counts, not their individual identities. A Liberian friend said they are more of a community culture and not as individualistic as American society. This painting speaks to that point. Who knows what treasures the containers hold, but the patterns on the containers—as well as the women's clothing—shows an attention to detail that makes me want to reach out to touch the fabric and feel who they are.
One other thought struck me, as I listened to Fr. Wilson's sermon today at St. Peter's. He was talking about this rainy, dreary Ash Wednesday. It captures the spirit of the first day of Lent 2011, in part because it is the overcast part of the spring that will bring new life. I thought about myself, almost like a a plant sprouting from a seed or bulb in the rain-soaked ground, "pushing up to be seen. Soaking up the light of God's creation." Someplace above me is the light, and I will move toward it as I practice my Lenten disciplines. I will also move toward it as I grow in my understanding of the artist, and the women he captures with efficient calligraphy-like brush strokes. They are waiting for me, ready to greet me as I travel into their space.
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