Studio Dialogue

“That color hurts, Master.” Whimpered the little canvas.

“I know it does, my dear. Do you not see my hand cramp up while I paint it on?” responded the Painter.

“You mean it hurts You too?”

“Oh yes. More than you know.”

“Well, anyway I thought You’d already painted that color on me?”

“Well, I have, sort of. You see, what you perceive the color to be is only a shadow and faint representation of what it really is from My perspective. Because actually, what you perceive to be just one color over and over is really many different shades of one category of color. I often layer them to create a new color in the end; and sometimes I use different brushes to create different textures. Also, just because I gave you this color in one area doesn’t mean I won’t ever apply it to another. But to answer your question: in a way I have already done this from your perspective, but I have truly never rendered you this shade.”

“I don’t get it.”

The Painter smiled so wide and so genuinely that the canvas thought His face was going to break, even though it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

“Darling, of course you don’t. You won’t until you’re finished and on my side of things.”

“When is that going to be, Master?”

This time the Painter let the laughter out that the conversation had been building in Him.

“When you learn that questions like that have only one answer.” He said, still laughing.

“What’s the answer?”

“In time. In My time.” He stated, more solemnly after a moment.

“Oh Master, Your hand is trembling...and oh! It hurts!” she breathed.

“I know, my dear, I know.”

“Master, what if we save us both the pain and skip this color?!”

“If that’s what you really want. But I just want to remind you....”

“I know, I know...You say it every time.”

“I say what?”

“What You were just going to say.”

“And what’s that? Let’s hear it from you.”

“Well...that...that when I wanted You to be my Master and asked to look like that One over there,” she said, referring to the most beautiful painting in all the room, “You told me it would hurt but also that...”

“That what?”

“That it would be worth it. And I believed You.”

The Painter grinned again.

“That was such a beautiful moment. That was soon after I had made you a white canvas again by bleeding out the picture already there...remember when you first believed that I could do that? That was all it took. And then when you knew it didn’t stop there--”

“Yeah, I do remember that!” She cut in, excitedly. “I also remember that I used to look a lot like some other paintings around me before that day....” And she continued on that note--less excited, “Actually, sometimes I feel like the painting that I used to be was so ugly and strong that it seeps through the white and even the painting of me that You’ve begun.”

“Yes, you did bear some resemblance to those around you. Though you were always unique--just as you are now. And even now in your process you’re still ever so unique and beautiful even if I’m still working on you. Don’t forget that.”

He continued speaking to her so patiently, while she marveled at His voice. It always sounded the same overall, but she also never stopped noticing new qualities about it. This time she remarked the the soothing, innate rhythm of His speech:

“And if you ever feel like what you used to be is showing through My work, it’s because you’re letting it and even clinging to it at times. What you once were has been completely bled from your canvas. And I’ve given you everything you need to not let that old self reign over you. But it’s not easy, I know--as simple as it may sound. I know it might be hard to for you to believe at times, but there really isn’t any temptation or facet of what you go through that I don’t understand.”

“It’s just good to hear you remind me of that every once in a while, Master,” she said, still thoughtful.

“I know, and I want you to just tell me whenever you need to hear it, my dear. But I have a question for you.”

“You do?! Ask me!”

“Do you still believe Me that it’s going to be worth it?”

She paused, wishing she weren’t feeling all the emotions that seemed to be taking her over. The internal war in her seemed to come back way too often. Eventually, almost wincing, she said,

“Yes, Master, with all my heart--well, the larger part of it anyway, just to be honest. Please....”

“Please what?” said the Master with a tear in his eye.

“Oh, it hurts to even say, but please keep painting! No matter how much it hurts. It’s all so true and He’s so beautiful over there--that One I want You to make me look like....”

“He is. And I can’t even express it to you in terms you’ll understand, but I can tell you that if you let me keep going you’ll still be yourself and you’ll be as unique as ever, but you’ll look an awful lot like Him too.”

“How does that work, Master?”

He laughed again and she beamed, not understanding how such an inquiry could have given him mirth, but glad it did.

“That’s what I mean about how I can’t put it terms you’ll understand right now. I guess you’ll just have to trust Me.”

“Ok, if You say so. Oh, I do want to look like Him.”

“Wanna know something?”

“Um, of course. I always do!”

“He looks a lot like Me.” He whispered, in a veritably similar manner that one would divulge a secret--though she knew it wasn’t.

When she looked and once more realized the resemblance she exclaimed in awe, “It’s true! Oh how he does! You’ve told me that before, but how come I forget to see that all the time?!”

“Well, you’ve got a lot of things going on in your process. But by pursuing conversation with Me, you can let Me be the One to remind you. That’s important, because without this dialogue, I can’t really continue to the best of my abilities--which are Ultimate.”

“You mean, if I quit paying attention to You, You can’t paint me anymore?”

“No, that’s not entirely true, for I am the Master Painter, but it’s different and certainly not as beautiful. You’ll always be in process, it just makes a difference whether it’s the process I have for you or not. I can always use whatever other process you let happen in your life, but it may not be what I could have done. But I can tell you this: the colors that get brushed on your canvas without My bidding hurt Me more than the ones that are of My will.”

She let this soak in a moment and then passionately stated, “I don’t want any one to paint me but You, Master!” Then she added, puzzled, “But I always thought that my questions would bother you. I didn’t know that you actually wanted or liked this kind of conversation.”

“On the contrary! It’s the conversations that we have that keep Me in the position of your Master and Artist. You might feel like you’re asking the same questions over and over again--kind of like you feel that you get painted with the same color over and over again--but from My perspective I see so many more nuances and shades to what’s going on than you’ll ever know. And you know what else?”

She squirmed a bit, wondering and trying to predict what was coming--as she was all too often wont to do, “What?”

“What’s amazing is that your honesty with Me shines through in your colors and gives them a brighter quality than anything else can.”

She hadn’t forseen such a response. “My questions shine through?! And that’s good?!”

He laughed again, and she felt relieved that he wasn’t angry with her perpetually inquisitive nature.

“You can only have an inkling! It’s incredible and it reminds Me over and over how much I love you! But more than that, I just love talking to you. That’s why I started you in the first place.”

“Hm. I guess it must just be me, but sometimes I’ve felt like You must just wish I would stop asking questions.”

“Never, my dear. It’s My heart’s desire that you articulate to Me what’s going on inside of you. But I do want you to be content if I don’t answer the way you want Me to sometimes.”

She sighed, “That happens a lot.”

He grinned even bigger than He had before. She never ceased to be amazed that such a thing was even possible.

“Darling one, I know it does. That’s because sometimes, if not often, the answer you want isn’t the best one.”

“But I always think it through!” She began to get a little frustrated, “I examine all of the options and pick the best answer and....”

Once more, laughter from the Master filled the studio.

“No honey, you only examine the options that you see! You cannot see everything from your flat perspective! You have to let it be and let Me be as I am. As hard as it is for you, I promise you that I always have your best interest in mind. And by best, I mean My best. Not what you think or want to be best. I will never harm you.”

“So this pain that I’m feeling isn’t harm?”

“Absolutely not. I know it feels like harm, but in reality it’s your journey to best. Best is a difficult destination. And it’s painful. But like I said, it’s worth it.”

“OK, so--just to clarify, and not to be dramatic--but this excruciating color is a part of my journey to best and to look like Him? And You?” Once more she gazed at the painting that she so wanted to resemble, and then back at the Master’s poised hand.

“Exactly.”

“Wow.” She said quietly.

“Yeah.”

“Master?”

“Yes?”

“I love You.”

“I love You too.” He choked a bit on the lump in His throat that she couldn’t perceive and then breathed,

“Let’s continue with this color, shall we? Once we’re done with this we can move on. But don’t rush it either, OK?”

“OK, but I’m sorry you have to feel my pain too, Master.”

“Oh, but I’m not, my dear! For it means that you are a part of me!”

“What?! I don’t deserve that! You’re so different from me...so...perfect!”

“Yes. I am. But you should also know that it has become a possibility for you to be a part of Me because of that One who hangs on that wall over there--the One you want to look like.”

“OK, I’m gonna say it again: I don’t get it and how does that work?”

“Well, that painting is of My Son. That’s where the resemblance comes in. He became like you and spent His life in process and letting me paint Him perfectly and without blemish so that You could have that opportunity as well. There’s a lot more to the story, but if you look at my hands and the scars that are left from Me painting His journey--and let Me tell you it hurt--you may understand a bit more why I can feel your pain and how it is that you can be a part of Me. And these scars may also help you remember where the blood came from that bled your past image away to make your canvas so clean. Don’t worry, though, if you don’t fully grasp it. It’s something that you may never fully apprehend while you exist as the canvas that you are. But you’ll get it one day when you’re finished and you can jump off that flat thing and into my arms. Until then, just believe. It’s your belief that allowed Me to whitewash you when We started, but it will be your perseverant faith in My abilities as your Artist and belief that it’s worth it that will get you where we both want you to go: I want you to look like Him too.”

“I think I might be starting to get it. But I may need You to tell me again soon after I think about it for a bit. And probably when another color comes that hurts again.”

“Well, my dear creation, I never tire of telling this story.”

“Master?”

“Yes?”

“I love You.”

“I love you too.”

“And I am going to learn to love these...um...colors.”

“OK, but be patient with yourself. That’s attainable, albeit ambitious.”

“I want to see me from Your perspective someday.”

“That, my dear, is a promise. Someday and in My time.”

“There’s that answer again....” She sighed once more, only this time just slightly more contentedly.

And the Painter, knowing that words were not always necessary just smiled and winked at her--His eyes seeming to glisten even more than usual. Indeed, He was beautiful.

This is for Mary: I thought of you while writing this.
-T. Emerson