The Shape of Today

A piece of the puzzle

Last night, before bed, I found myself watching an old episode of The Joy of Painting.

I haven't done painting of any kind since my grade school days, but like so many, I am delighted by Bob Ross' gentle form of mesmerism. He was painting a scene with a little old house or barn, surrounded by great evergreens, in the wild at sunrise or sunset. Since the episode had been about halfway over by the time I tuned in, I'm not sure of the time of day he was depicting, but it was lovely. The sky flowed from peach-pink to orange on the horizon, and you could tell old Sol was just beyond.

Then, Ross added his evergreen trees and truly transformed the scene. The colors of the horizon, already beautiful, took on a magical vitality that had me looking for the golden edge of the sun. It wasn't in his painting, but this new depth had me believing it would be there. And even the house or barn, a structure he clearly stated was very old and showing its age, became so vivid I imagined it creaking in the wind that swept over this scene. All because the artist added a few evergreen trees.

It occurred to me that much of our world's great art is great for that same reason. The words on the page, the paint on the canvas, the notes in the song...all of them resonate with us because the key elements are all there. The character in the story may be courageous, but it is the legendary foe that she/he confronts that makes that courage shine. The melody of the song is enchanting, but the pace set by the rhythm section is what keeps it playing in one's head all day, making a workday more enjoyable. And the sunset in the painting is pretty, but the deep green of the painted treeline makes it pure enchantment.

This lesson is something I need to bear in mind the next time I'm struggling with a piece of writing. If it seems incomplete, it probably is. There's another piece of the puzzle that I need to find and put into position.