Once upon a time there was a painter and a sculptor, each the best and most talented among his brethren. Their fame spread far and wide throughout the land, so far it seems, that even Mother Nature had heard of them and was interested. It takes some doing, I can tell you, to peak her interest for there is nothing new under the Sun.
With their fame, however, came an odd feud between the
people who revered them. Each side felt
that the artist they supported was the superior artist and the other was
second-rate. This might not have
mattered so much, but the problem was that each “side” wanted the other “side”
to capitulate, to admit that the artist of the other side was superior. Each side sneered at the other. It went from sneering to mocking to yelling
to throwing stones and even worse . . . until a great deal of noise was
upsetting an otherwise beautiful world.
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| The uncovering . . . |
I might as well tell you here and now that Mother Nature
did not believe one artist was better than the other. She simply recognized their very different
talents and hoped that she could bring that recognition to the people by
holding the contest. After all, people
often need help to see what is right in front of their eyes.
Well, the day of the contest came, and people came from
far and wide to see what the artists might do.
Each person held in his heart the idea that his artist would finally be
recognized as superior and the other would have to bend his knee. Each person was filled with false pride and
condemnation. Each person relished the
idea of being “right,” not because “right” was best but because “wrong” was
simply out of the question. With “wrong”
comes condescension, and with condescension comes condemnation. It is a fatal human flaw.
The trumpets sounded loudly to announce the beginning of
the contest, and as always, Mother Nature had to make a grand entrance. (You must know that this is her habit as she
is anything but dull.) With a great clap
of thunder, the Earth shook violently, and then a blinding flash of light was
followed by a cloud of deep grey smoke. Everyone
fell to the ground trembling in fear. The
smoke quickly cleared, though, and Mother Nature stood in their midst, wearing
her gown of ever-changing color and scenes.
As she moved, she seemed to appear and disappear depending upon whether
the scene in her gown matched the surrounding area.
So she sat upon a great golden throne, which everyone
swore that only moments earlier had not been there. The trumpets sounded again, and the people
were told to sit and watch the contest. Of
course, two groups formed, each filled with the members that supported their
own artist—either the painter or the sculptor.
It was all very black and white with no in between, and this caused a
heavy sigh to come involuntarily from the Lady on the Throne.
Not one to wait around for small talk, Mother Nature
stood quickly and clapped her hands three times. At once, a large canvas appeared in the
clearing, which was surrounded by hundreds (perhaps thousands!) of vials of
paint and many brushes and spatulas for the painter to use. As if on cue, he appeared to a thunderous
applause from his followers. He was a
flamboyant young man dressed in fine silks with a cap and a feather on his
head. He bowed low to the ground before
Mother Nature, who rolled her eyes and yawned at his conceit and groveling. She said not a word—not one—but merely
pointed to the canvas with a long and bony index finger.
The painter went at once to the canvas, drawn by the vast
array of beautiful paints. He had
planned on making a vivacious show, but he was overwhelmed by the beauty of the
paints before him. Without further
comment, he set straight to work. He was
a strong and vigorous young man, and he moved quickly between the vials of
paints, mixing this perfect color and that, splashing them on to the canvas
with a look of true rapture in his eyes.
It was evident that even though he was a flamboyant and overly showy
young man, his art was sincere and humbling and true.
A hush came over the crowd on both sides as they watched
him paint the canvas. Future painters
watched him with the utmost admiration, holding deeply in their feverish hearts
the desire to be just like him. As he
worked, the most beautiful woman ever seen appeared magically before the eyes
of the beholders. She was so delicate and
so pure and so perfect, that every man there desired her immensely and every
woman both loved and hated her most jealously, indeed. Even Mother Nature was taken aback (and
perhaps a little annoyed) by her stunning beauty and the talent of the man who
had painted her.
When the painter finished, he stepped back and sat
quietly on the ground. He had planned
earlier to make a great and raucous fuss upon his completion, but in the end,
he sat humbly in front of the canvas with love shining in his eyes. In that moment, he could not have known how
beautiful he himself was.
“You have done well!” Mother Natured boomed,
surreptitiously wiping a tear from her eye.
This contest had already become much more than she had anticipated, and
that made her uncomfortable because things rarely ever happened without her
anticipating them. But even the maker of
this world has to follow the Law.
Then she abruptly stood and clapped her hands three times
yet again. At once, a large piece of marble
appeared in the clearing, which was surrounded by dozens and dozens of hammers,
mallets, and chisels of all shapes and sizes.
Some were pointy and sharp; others were dull and raspy. Anything the sculptor could need was there.
As if on cue, he appeared to a thunderous applause from
his followers. He was a very old man,
bent and crooked and crippled. Unlike his
flamboyant and almost floating counterpart, he was slow and quiet and dressed
in dirty and torn clothes. He nodded
briefly and absentmindedly toward Mother Nature, who narrowed and fixed her
eyes on what seemed to be almost impertinence to her. She said not a word—not one—but merely
pointed to the marble slab with a long and bony index finger.
The sculptor limped quietly to the marble, drawn by the
beautiful tools at his disposal. He had
planned on using his own old chisel, thinking it the best tool ever, but when he
saw the fine tools before him, he was overwhelmed with the thought of what he
might create. Without further comment,
he set straight to work. He was an old
man, old and tired, and he moved slowly around the marble as he hammered and
chiseled this way and that. He had never
used such fine tools before, and he was surprised and humbled by their
exactness, having never before thought of the workmanship that might go into
the creation of his tools of trade. This
gave him a humble appreciation, even a reverence, for the quiet workers who had
helped him in his art all these years without him ever having known.
A hush came over the crowd on both sides as they watched
him split and chisel and shave the marble.
Future sculptors watched him with the utmost admiration, holding deeply
in their feverish hearts the desire to be just like him. As he worked, the most beautiful man ever
seen began to suddenly appear out of the marble. He was in a reclining position, sleeping
peacefully. His features were bold and
strong and warrior-like, and every woman there desired him immensely and every man
grudgingly acknowledged his superior alpha form. Even Mother Nature was taken aback (perhaps a
little feverishly) by his beauty and strength and the talent of the man who had
sculpted him.
When the sculptor finished, he jumped back quickly in a
movement that startled even himself, and he let out a little yelp. He had planned earlier to simply walk away
upon his completion, but in the end, he grinned broadly at the beautiful marble
youth before him, enjoying his own talent in a way he had never done before. In that moment, he could not have known how
much more human he had become to the spectators.
“Well done, old man, well done!” Mother Natured boomed, secretly
feeling her own heart aflutter by the beautiful marble man. This contest had become so much more than she
had planned. How was she to choose
between these two artists? How was she
to say which one was best and which one was second-rate? For surely, they were both masters.
She decided, as she always decides, that Truth is
best. And this is what she said:
“Painter, you have reached into the secret garden of your
heart and mind. Even more than that, you
have reached into the secret gardens of the hearts and minds of everyone
here. You have found what is best in
beauty and grace, and somehow you have managed to convey that on your
canvas. You have been able to combine
the secret desires and longings of every person here and put them magically on
your canvas, and because of this, we are all made better and humbler.”
The followers of the painter cheered wildly, and even
some of the followers of the sculptor cheered as well, having realized the gift
of beauty and color that had been given to them.
“Sculptor, you have uncovered what is hidden in every
person’s heart and soul. Even more than
that, you have let them know that grace and beauty are always within and can be
revealed at any time, should one be brave enough to mercilessly use the hammer
and chisel. What appeared to be nothing
at all is now revealed to be everything, and because of this, you have sparked
the courage and bravery of us all to uncover our hidden gifts.”
The followers of the sculptor cheered wildly, and even
some of the followers of the painter cheered as well, having been given the gift
of the knowledge of uncovering.
When the cheers subsided, the crowd grew quiet. All eyes turned expectantly to Mother Nature,
who was now on the spot to make a choice.
But before she could make a pronouncement, noises were heard in the
clearing by the canvas and the marble. There
a group of children were playing with the paints and sculpting tools. Some were merrily throwing the paints and
tools around into a terrible mess, but others were earnestly trying to paint
and sculpt. Yet all of them—each and
every one—was smiling and laughing. Art and
beauty, after all, will not be denied.
Several people from both sides then walked away together,
having formed a third group. These people
would go on in the future to become the wise men and women throughout the ages
of man who would try to guide humankind in truth and fairness. The other people who were still left on one side
or another walked away in their own directions, marveling at the talent of
their artist, whom they all agreed was clearly the best. Painter or sculptor, it did not matter to
these people. What mattered was being
right.
In the end, Mother Nature was left all alone with the
painter and the sculptor. To each she
gave an unlimited supply of their respective tools of trade, and both of them
thanked her profusely. They left
together, the old sculptor leaning heavily on the arm of the young painter, who
willingly and humbly supported the old man.
And now all that was left was Mother Nature, the painting,
and the sculpture. She took two bits of
cloth from her ever-changing dress and draped one across each piece of art, and
immediately each one began to move and shift, appear and disappear. She left the art to flow into the forest, and
I am told if one has a discerning eye, one can still see the beauty here and
there. In the end, though, there is
nothing new under the Sun. Things are
merely revealed when we are ready to see them.
