Reframing It

My task this week is to get a second round of Cory's artwork ready to be hung at a local coffeeshop.  There were simply too many pieces to show all of them when her work was displayed in January, so they kindly agreed to a second showing.  It was supposed to be in November, but some scheduling problems moved it up to July.  What a perfect time for her artwork to be seen.  If that just doesn't say "suck it" to death, I don't know what does.

I have been putting off choosing the pieces and buying the frames, just as I did last time.  I am excited about her work being seen and proud beyond measure.  The issue is that going through her things is so incredibly painful.  There are stories behind each of them.  I can see her at the easel, or studiously bent over her work as she sat cross-legged on our hardwood floor.  She talked to me about many of her paintings, eager to explain the message, and to get my feedback. 

We made countless trips to Hobby Lobby to load up on supplies, and hooked Jake into making art with her.  Going through her pieces transports me back in time.  I am no longer alone in the toy room, touching her paint splattered easel that sits folded in a corner, its career cut tragically short.  No.  I am in the dining room with my two beautiful children, smiling as we listen to music and share the art supplies piled haphazardly in the middle of the table.  I watch Jacob as he closely observes his sister's artistic process, and suddenly decides each of his paintings must have a title. 

Jacob - who has been thirty five since the day he was born-  passes a watercolor painting to Cory for feedback.  He watches her face anxiously as she regards it.  He is silent, still, and patient...his temperament since birth.  He has named his painting something dramatic and melancholy, and the colors echo the feel.  Cory meets my eyes, and smiles with such pride, I feel she may soon bust.  She turns to him, making eye contact, and speaking earnestly down into his face  "Jacob!  This piece has such emotion.  I can really feel the plight of this wolf.  He is lonely, but strong enough to walk the world alone.  You have such talent, Jacob.  I wish I could do pieces like this."

As she hands it back to him, he meets my eyes, his little face glowing with pride, and hugely embarrassed.  He drops his gaze before I can say a word, and starts another painting...this time a giraffe who is self-conscious about  his height.