393. Divine Life

It was the colours that first grabbed my attention. The boldness of the combination and the playfulness of the hues. I felt immediately that I was looking at a significant work of art. Whether or not it would be significant for others, I couldn’t say, but I knew it was significant for me. The intensity of the feeling seemed to say that I was in the presence of true beauty.

It was the colours at first, but then my attention began to go elsewhere. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that it began to go everywhere. There was no part of the artwork that was unworthy of my gaze and I found myself automatically moving closer to it. It wasn’t until I was very near that it struck me.

The brushstrokes. They were immaculate. The painting was in thick oils and I could easily trace each one. Every stroke seemed driven by an unquestionable purpose. Each with an exact weight, connecting perfectly with the others around it to form the greater image.

But even more than this, what struck me was the life visible in the strokes. It was as though each one were a piece of life itself, and the matrix of strokes taken together was the culmination of this life, its composition into something I could only call divine. There was no other way to put it. The painting looked as though it had been delivered directly from the heavens.

I stood as close to it as I possibly could. I was mesmerized by every aspect of it, and I only barely noticed when someone came up beside me. My attention was still entranced when I found myself saying out loud: “Look at the brushstrokes.” I felt no embarrassment at this sudden remark, for the words came from my passion for the piece. The other person said something in response, probably only a word or two, but I cannot recall what. I was entirely unable to free myself from the unfathomable beauty I had so fortunately discovered.