I have hit a wall. You might callout the sculptor’s version of writer’s block. But that’s not quite right. The ideas are there, as is the desire to realize them. Something else is keeping me from wedging that first ball of clay; other than the freezing temperatures of the last few days.
I have the clay - stocked up before the Governor ordered all non essential businesses closed. Tamas made me a wedging board and smaller platforms on which to build. Sculpting tools'? no problem. There is access to water.
All of my other obligations have been met. So, what is the roadblock?
It hit me today as I was contemplating the passion of Our Lord, the ‘Divine Artist’, who created everything that was created. But even the most prodigious, masterful sculptors create a mere shadow of the real thing. And I consider my own gift, as thankful as I am for it, as infinitesimally small.
Then a memory surfaced of a 12 year old me who decided to ‘make’ a light bulb for my 7th grade science project. My teacher, an imposing figure of a man, approved my project with a wry smile. And I went to work. I don’t recall at what point I realized that I was not going to create a light bulb, but merely a ‘model’ of a light bulb, hollow and without the spark to illuminate.
In writing this down, the answer has presented itself. God does not ask me to sculpt perfectly or to compare my abilities with those whose gifts were or are greater than mine. He simply asks me to take care of the garden he gave to me.
The Wind, One Brilliant Day
The wind, one brilliant day, called to my soul with an odor of jasmine.
“In return for the odor of my jasmine, I’d like all the odor of your roses.”
“I have no roses; all the flowers in my garden are dead.”
“Well then, I’ll take the withered petals and the yellow leaves and the waters of the fountain.”
The wind left. And I wept. And I said to myself: '“What have you done with the garden that was entrusted to you?”
Antonio Machado
