The theme for this week’s Weekly Photo Challenge is ‘Work of Art’. Michelle defines it this way:
“Art” isn’t just paintings and sculptures, it can be anything in which we find beauty and meaning — even food. Show us a thing, place, or person that’s a work of art to you.
Works of art are everywhere we care to look but of course art’s beauty, as with all creativity, is subjective. Thinking of so many possibilities for this challenge one voice called out louder than all the rest and I realised that I didn’t need to look far for art’s ‘beauty and meaning’.
Walk with me then, if you will, down a few steps and into my garden and I shall show you my kind of art.
Witness the glory of the lavender as it sparks into deepest purple, all the more a work of art since I moved this particular plant at least twice last summer; a thrill for me to see it taking root and form as it welcomes all who look upon it:
Then we look upon the merest hint of a delicate pink that has kissed the edge of the first flush of a budding rose, exploding into scented life from winter’s hibernation.
With a deeper sweep of nature’s paintbrush and another rose gives up its blushing splendor.
Added to the artist’s palette is the buttery yellow of the Iceland poppies who dance to their own tune in the bright and breezy spring air. Happy to be alive, they stretch up to the blue above with their little yellow hats:
But when I think of art and all that is marvellous in God’s creation I think not only of flowers and plants and trees on the land but of ‘all creatures great and small’ and I remember my days by the sea.
In my garden sit two Abalone shells. One intact, one broken, yet sit they do, side by side, as they have done through wind and rain, sun and snow as the years rush by.
Since the days when my children and I found them, washed up on the Californian shore so many years ago.
Abalone shimmers in the sunshine with its mother-of-pearl iridescence.
Sea otters eat abalone, along with mussels, clams, crabs and snails. When they are finished eating the juicy insides, the empty shells are abandoned and travel as sea-treasures sent to us who walk through the sand and wait patiently for the tide to bring them in.
When I look upon these shells I think of California, of returning to a small fishing town called Morro Bay, where my children laughed and played for years and years. Where we used to watch the otters and the seals also at play, if we were lucky.
Gazing out across the harbour with my friend last year, how thrilling to be able to capture this little scene:
‘Works of Art’ then are everywhere, as viewed through the camera’s lens. What moves one may not move another but how wonderful it is to explore our inner artistry and to discover our kind of art.
‘A musician must make music, an artist must paint, a poet must write, if he is to be ultimately at peace with himself. What a man can be, he must be’. – Abraham Maslow