The picture caught my eye as I walked down the hall of a local residential home. The smiling boy was enchanting enough, but the wicker chair was astonishing. There must have been thousands of individual strokes, one shade nestled against another. The artist saw me admiring it and offered to answer any questions. 

 

"That chair!! How did you create something so realistic that I can almost reach out and feel the bumpy texture?"

 

"I asked my art teacher how to do it and he said not to draw a chair, but to focus on shapes, as well as lights and darks. One line at a time. I could do that. It was hard to maintain that focus, but little by little, a wicker chair emerged. He also reminded me to look for the negative spaces, like the one between the boy's nose and the dog's ear."

 

A line of yellow. Another of brown. These slant to the left. Those lean to the right. I knew better than to ask her how long it took. If an artist is immersed in a piece time holds no meaning. 

 

When I decide to draw a tree my eyes stop looking at the oak in front of me. I pull up old mental files of what a generic trunk consists of, blind to the gnarly and much more interesting arc outside my window. There are two sections of the brain... the one that believes it already knows the answer, and the half that is curious. The first tends toward impatience, and quickly tires of a task like individual marks stacked up. Details such as whether it is mustard or honey are tedious, and that part of the brain prefers to slap out a rectangle and be done with it. 

 

But the portion of our attention that is content to look, and look again does not bore so easily. The five hundredth stripe is as worthy as the first. 

 

I notice that I can aspire to goals, much like a wicker chair. A happy Christmas. A good marriage. Becoming an angelic person. But God lures me back to simpler strokes than that. Being patient with an elderly person ahead of me in the store, fumbling in her purse for a coupon. Composing a message on a card to a friend whose year has been dark. Having a conversation with a child while making an apron for his mother. Reading a couple of verses from the gospels each morning. Belting out Feliz Navidad with abandon in a crowd of harried shoppers. Allowing the empty space left from an unspoken negative complaint. Making a goofy face for a child who is hungry and tired of errands.

 

I will leave the big picture to the true Teacher. Plus I will stop asking how long it will take.