“Portrait of Munchkin Giggle-Sprinkles” by Michele Bledsoe
Recently, I put aside my work in progress..
and ignored a looming deadline
to pour myself into a special request –
A portrait of my sister’s beloved cat
who passed away last year.
This is what art is all about.
Not the galleries and the exhibits.
Not the personal attention
and public exposure…
it’s about the gift
and what you choose to do with it.
“The Ghost and My Obsession” by Michele Bledsoe
Several years ago I was sitting at my desk
in my high-level corporate job
and I had a terrifying vision.
I imagined myself far in the future
sitting at the same desk..
doing exactly the same thing
and wondering to myself
what life would have been like
if I had decided to pursue my art instead.
Not long after that, I quit my job..
and let my path take me to where I was meant to be
instead of where I thought I should go.
In life, as in art
we must be fearless.
Trust the gift.
“The Church of Instinct”, “As Above So Below” and “From the Old House” by Michele Bledsoe
First and foremost, I am a painter..
but I am other things as well.
I have learned a lot
throughout the course of my life..
cultivating valuable skills
that I have worked hard to accumulate.
Through trial and error
I have gained experience..
And with years of practice
I’ve learned to do things
that I used to think were
miles beyond my capabilities.
I suppose I could hold a series of costly workshops
on a number of topics..
everything from social media marketing
to formatting and publishing ebooks.
Or maybe I could hoard my knowledge
and use these skills for myself alone.
Instead,
I went in a different direction..
choosing to focus more on
what good can I do through sharing my various gifts
rather than how much money I can make
selling them.
So now I spend my days
working with young adults within the autism spectrum..
teaching them
everything I’ve learned.
Maybe that’s not the path
to making myself a ton of money..
but by sowing these seeds
and watching my students grow
I am already rich beyond measure.
The Bridge by Michele Bledsoe
The desire to create is a gift from God.
The ceaseless passion to paint and draw
has been with me since childhood..
and by embracing this gift
it has defined my path in life
and led me to my purpose.
By nature,
the gift is selfless.
It has nothing to do with
the empty pursuit
of fame and fortune..
it is so much more than that.
Through art,
I met my husband
made friends..
and forged relationships.
Through art,
I became a volunteer drawing teacher
for a group of inner city kids..
and began working with young adults within the autism spectrum.
As an artist
I’ve found that’s it’s not all about me..
I am just a paintbrush in God’s hand.
“Metamorphosis” by Michele Bledsoe
I remember making a book when I was little.
I vaguely recall the story had something to do with a family of animals living near a beach.
I made drawings of weird dog-like creatures on pieces of paper that I folded to look like pages.
When I showed it to my grandfather
He knelt down so we were face-to-face
And looking directly into my eyes
He said to me:
“Michele, you have a gift from God.”
Believe me, the drawing wasn’t THAT good…
Sure, I drew recognizable objects
But that’s a far cry from being like some child prodigy drawing like Michelangelo at the age of 4.
Did he see something I didn’t?
Was it a glimpse of the artist I would become..
or was it something else?
My husband I volunteer to teach art
To a group of inner city kids in downtown Phoenix.
A couple of days ago
Something beautiful happened.
Surrounded by kids,
talking and drawing together
at a crowded table..
I saw a small boy.
so small, and quiet
he practically disappeared.
His tiny head was bent down
intensely focused
on the drawing in front of him.
I glanced at what he was working on
and I felt time stop.
All the chaos in the room
faded into the background.
There was something different about this child.
Something rare and beautiful.
I saw it.
Felt it.
And in that
seemingly small and insignificant moment..
I understood that there was something tremendous
in consequence
that brought me here.
“That is a great brontosaurus, “I told him
“and what a terrific volcano!”
The boy looked up..
clearly surprised that I noticed him..
that I was talking to him.
“You draw really well,” I continued
“I can see your wonderful imagination
in your drawings.”
With a tiny smile, and light in his eyes
The boy whispered. “Thank you.”
I asked him his name..
“Jesus.” He replied.
I leaned in real close so we were face to face..
And looking directly into his eyes, I said,
“Jesus, you have a gift from God.”
A random act of artistic kindness..
In “To Kill A Mockingbird”, Boo Radley left gifts for Jem and Scout in the knothole of an old, oak tree. He wanted the children to be aware of his presence, to understand that he cared for them, and to know that he was watching out for them.
Now, I am going to tell you a story that will explain why I call this painting “The Return of Boo Radley”.
Once upon a time I lived in a one-bedroom apartment with my dog, Gunther. In the center of the complex, there was a large grassy area surrounding a sandbox where the kids could play. Scattered on the ground, I would find some of the largest and most beautiful pinecones I had ever seen. Whenever I took Gunther for a walk, I would grab a couple and bring them back to my apartment to marvel over.
One day, I noticed a little girl…
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I volunteer to teach art to a group of inner city kids in downtown, Phoenix. In the summer, classes are longer and I am there for over three hours during the afternoon. Strange as it may sound, I like to go there unprepared. No lesson plan, no preconceived projects designed to hold their attention and occupy their time. Maybe that sounds crazy, but I have noticed that when I walk into that room with no expectations and open heart, a lesson will unfold.
Sitting at tables drawing together, I spontaneously picked up a piece of paper and folded it into an origami butterfly. The girl sitting next to me asked if I would show her how to make one. Yes, I told her.. of course I will.
We moved onto the floor at the other end of the room, followed by two more girls. Step by step, the four of us slowly folded pieces of paper into butterflies. While we worked, I kept talking – stopping whenever someone got lost, backing up a few steps, gently encouraging them and taking the time to make sure everyone was following along.
“The first time is the hardest,” I explained. “With each butterfly you make, it will get a little easier.”
Sure enough, after about three or four butterflies, they were really getting the hang of it.
A group of other kids wandered over to where we were sitting and asked if I would teach them how to make butterflies, too. “Yes, of course,” I replied.. then I turned to my three butterfly-makers and said, “These are your teachers.”
The girls looked at me, surprised. “You can do this,” I told them. Then I grabbed a piece of paper and waited for the lesson to begin.
Throughout the day, more and more children came into the room – “Is this the origami class?” they would ask. Yes, I replied – welcoming them into the group. Every time a new student sat down, a new teacher would be there to help them learn. Each teacher that emerged, taught their students with the same gentleness, patience and encouragement that I first showed to the three little girls. I heard them softly repeat my words to each other, explaining how the first time is the hardest.. how with each butterfly, it will get a little easier.
Although I only taught three girls, about 40 kids learned how to make butterflies that day.
How can I even begin to explain how it felt to watch the chain-reaction that unfolded before me? Children as students, learning and becoming teachers; sharing their knowledge and empowering new teachers. Over and over, the cycle continued.. like the ripples of so many stones tossed into an endless river.
When I walked into that room I was a teacher. But when I became a student, a lesson unfolded with the delicate whisper of paper butterfly wings.. and the power to change the world.
