I call her water. My kid-like interpretation of aquatic life. It’s what I would love to see most if I jumped off of a bridge and landed in a lagoon where I could breathe with gill-like precision below the surface. It depicts the creatures I’d love to encounter and what I envision would happen if a 4th of July firecracker was ignited below the colorful depths. And if all my visions were edible, I’d expect this one to taste a little like coconut towards the bottom, a hint of lime/salt off to the left and a mixture of tangerine and raspberry off to the right.

But that’s just me. If you don’t see water or don’t taste tangerine, then I’d be so curious to know what you do see. I guess that’s why art doesn’t have an audible voice. It kind of sits quietly and lets you make your own observations, form your own impressions.

Now, if you’ll excuse me for a minute…

Dear water,

I loved painting you. At first, you were shy and kind of mean. And to be honest, pretty ugly. But, I believed in you from the start and you really came through. Now, just being around you makes me happy. Oh… and I’m sorry for leaving you in a cold, white-walled room for two months before finishing you. I would have gone crazy too!

Love,

Leora

What do you think a voice would look like (if it could look like anything)? I think some voices might be dark red on canvas. With big, thick brush strokes. I don’t really like those voices. Other voices might be barely visible, off-white on white. You’d need to be inches from the canvas to even notice the nuances. Young voices would be rich with all the colors in the spectrum, painted with round, billowing edges. And, if older voices were lucky, they’d look a lot like younger voices. At least on canvas.

This is what I’d like my voice to look like:

Dear voice,

At first I didn’t know how to begin painting you. So I just closed my eyes. I started with all the other voices around me, some gray, some really rich and beautiful and interesting. And then I began on you. I’d like for you to be the product of a lot of different experiences, colorful experiences. And I’d like for you to take on a unique and intricate shape, but a shape that is open and aimed at the sky. And I’d like for pretty pink flowers to be your words whenever possible. Thanks for everything so far. Go get ‘em!

Love,

Leora

Against all odds I wanted to give the world an undeniable gift of some kind. Eventually, as you might have guessed, I had the audacity to begin thinking of myself as an artist. And tangled up in this longing to discover my true place of birth was a ragged prayer I still sometimes toss at the sky. God, I pray, by some miracle, make my life a work of art. What does it look like and feel like to live artfully? I think to myself that I could begin the work of answering this question in ways that might actually be of use to someone if I weren’t drunk on the sky. I have a problem with these clouds that loom and sleigh across the the basking blue floor of heaven: I get lost in that white-as-bone, icy fluff. It sometimes feels as if the sky, maybe more than anything else, will ultimately break my heart.

-Linford Detweiler (Over the Rhine)

Like Linford, I’ve worked to develop the audacity needed to call myself an artist. But, I’m still not able to put into words what living artfully means. I know that, for me, it has a lot to do with swallowing whole those unexpected encounters with beauty with the hunger of a five-year-old. The desire to binge on sweets fully intact.

Oh, and I paint. You can check out my website, plus I’ll be featuring a couple favorites here on my blog. This one, yellow/red, is part of my new “oils series” (there’s a story behind this painting, but for another time):