...before and afters

I Cor 11:1 Follow my example, as I follow the example of Christ.


To me, this has always been a gutsy statement.  Am I following Christ enough to be able to say, "Hey, follow me and my example," and then know that I'll be leading someone toward Christ?

The older I get, the less qualified I feel.

But God...

God sees the unfinished me, and doesn't worry.  He loves "before and after" scenarios more than I do.

The corner "before"

The corner "after"

Any renovation or creation has ugly stages that are required to create an "after".

 When I paint, there are ugly stages. But that first blob of paint squirted on my palette is always so exciting.  It's like jumping off the high dive for the first swim of the summer. 

And this one (still in progress) is my first effort at a "flip off the board."  I've never done anything remotely like this.  I'm designing dresses, outfits, and painting them.  A portrait of a dress.  Weird, but I'm totally loving this!  Being set free in this thing that is totally me with God.  It's like bringing your first child home and thinking, "Oh, my word!  I love you so!  God, please help me not botch this!"

My friend, Lisa, dared me to blog the process - to let you come with me.  Yikes!!!  I typically hold my cards close until I can play a winning hand.  Actually, I don't even like to play cards, much less do I gamble so that's an absurd word picture for me to use for myself.  But you get the point, right?  LOL  But seriously, why would I let you in when I'm trying to paint bravely - try new things - learn to make mistakes so that I can learn?  It's gonna get ugly.    It may take a really long time.  You'll have to just be patient.

Why would I show you that?  Why take this dare? 

Honestly, I have no idea.  I'm just excited to try.  So here we go.

This will be a fall outfit.  I picture a girl walking in a park in New York City on one of those early Fall days around 3:30 or 4:00 in the afternoon when the sun starts to filter through the leaves just beginning to turn.

She's wearing a suede skirt and a tank with a sheer overlay blouse.  Soft boots.

So here we go:

I'm trying to create the texture of suede.  I have no idea how to do this.  The blobs on the right are experiments on a piece of canvas board.

In the meantime, I begin to block in colors.

What color do you think this outfit is?  Brown.   A bit of burgundy?  Actually, it's a watercolor wash of tranparent greens, yellows and fall toned blues.  I know you can't see that.  That's OK.  I can.

At this stage, much as I want to just keep painting, it's important to just leave it alone until this step dries.  (Sometimes, I feel left alone in a drab brown stage.  But God's not done with me yet.  He sees something.)

Then I start to mix.  And pounce.  Yes pounce.  If you were to watch, you'd think I was attacking the poor canvas, but that's how it works.  The brush is soft and the canvas is resilient.

Soon, the visual texture of suede appears.  But I want more this time.  I want real texture, not just the appearance of texture.

Now.  I feel like I'm failing at this point.  As I said, I don't know what I'm doing.  But I decided going in that I would make mistakes in order to learn.

How do I get texture?  Brush?  Not enough.  Glob on paint. Too glumpy for raw suede.

Sand?  It would have to be very fine.  Not anything I can grab from the driveway.  Salt?  It would melt.

So I decide to sacrifice some of my Gulf Coast white sand that I carefully treasure in a jar.  This sand is from the beach where God always talks to me.  He seems to take me there when I'm in the middle of crisis.  Long walks sooth me and there's always "a thin place",

as Robert Whitlow calls it, where the barrier between the heavenlies and me is not so impenetrable.

I grew up there, in so very many ways.  I'm always a child there, in so very many ways.

It's really an emotional moment to sacrifice some of my precious sand to an experiment - what might fail.  I take the canvas and lay it flat.  I paint over what I'd already done even though it was pretty, which is in itself a bit painful.  Did I fail?  No.  Not in the long haul.  I keep telling myself, "I'm just learning.  It's OK not to get it right the first time.  It's OK to paint over something pretty to get something better."

 I sprinkle sand on the wet paint and I work it in.  "Now, what?  Do I let it dry first or start working it?  If it fails, I guess I can just sand it off..."

As the paint mixes with the sand, it begins to make the texture I'm looking for.  See it at the top?

And I'm excited!  Lots of tears fell into that sand, and now it's becoming part of something joyful!

"Who in their right mind would throw sand on a beautiful white canvas?"  I can hear hear the critic...
Insecurities chat.  Memories flood in and threaten to make me feel like a failure.  "Who am I to think I can figure this out?  I'm not an artist.  I always quit before I really finish."

Let me tell you a story.

I was once painting my bedroom wall.  The bottom layer was a very intense blue, but very little of it would show once I was done.  A critic came in and said, "That blue is way too bold.  You won't like it."  I replied, "It's not finished."  I tried to explain that it was a lot like a cake.  If you tasted the eggs and flour before they were mixed with the sugar and baked, you'd say it wasn't any good.  She continued to tell me why the blue was wrong, even though it was chosen by me for my own bedroom.  It became comical... and frustrating.

And you know what?  She stumped me.  Even though I knew she was wrong, I let her opinion of the wall soak in as an opinion of me.  I should have just trusted my gut, but instead, it took me months to process that.  But God....   In the end, I was able to finish.  And I loved it.  After I finished my original vision with 3 layers and a wash over all, the same critic came in an said, "Oh this is a much better color than that blue you had the first time."  I said, "It's the same blue.  It's just finished."  She argued again.  "No it's not.  That blue was garish.  This is soft and airy."   I tried to tell her, "It's just what I said before.  You just couldn't see it because I hadn't added all the layers."  She refused to agree, even though I was the creator and knew every bit of what I had created.  Still, I was glad she liked my end result.  Perhaps her opinion mattered too much.  But she mattered to me and I was unable to separate them at the time.

Here's another story.

I was sketching a mural on the wall in an interior decorator's home.  She's AMAZINGLY GIFTED.  I asked her, "What's the hardest thing for you to do with your clients?"  She thought and then said, "Layers."  I smiled.  She continued.  "They come in when it's half done and say, 'That's too much green,' and I say, 'Just wait until the cushions are done and the curtains are up.  It will all make sense once all the layers are on.'  And when they see the final product, they're thrilled."

My friend left for a couple of hours in which time I had finished sketching and had begun to paint what would eventually be an English country pastel landscape.  She walked in to check on my progress.  She exclaimed, "It's black!!!"  I laughed and simply said, "Layers."  She busted out laughing and said, "I can't believe I even said that."

One last example.

When people came through the family room and saw my canvas at this point,

 lots of them said, "Oh, I love your pink dress!"

I'd give a mischievous grin and say, "It's actually white."  Then I'd explain what I had in mind.  Do I blame them for not seeing a white dress?  Of course not!

This dress took over a year of emotional processing.  For days, I'd just stare at.  So afraid to finish in case it should turn out horribly.  But finally, I just kept painting.

Trying things I've never done, like opalescent glaze.

Diving into the details and overcoming my fears.

God began to show me that much of what I don't like about what He's doing - when I feel ugly and left alone - is actually part of something beautiful.  What is underneath is crucial, and beautiful to Him, even if it seems opposite to what I dream of becoming.

Artists and dreamers know that there are ugly stages.  There could even be those who would argue the dress should stay pink.  If the pink stage was able to wake up a dream in the critic for them to hold on to, then YAY!  But this dress is my dream - and it was meant to be white.

The critics may disagree, but in the end it's my dream, and I get to choose.  As an artist, I'm learning that it's really OK for someone not to like what I do. 

If they look at this dress without knowing the self portrait story behind it, they can think what they will.  But they'll be off the mark.  It hurts all the same, but I have to let choose what they think.

If they walk in on me at the pink or brown stage, can I blame them for not being able to see a white dress or a sheer watercolor print blouse?  Of course, not!  Maybe they need a pink dress in their dreams.  If my work doesn't fit their dreams, I'll just have to learn to let that be.

But me?  I needed this particular white dress. 

So, I'll just smile - and keep painting - and think, "Layers."



©2015 Lydia D. Crouch