Studio Dialogue V

“Master, why did you quit?” She finally asked, exasperated.

“I didn’t quit.” He replied.

As usual, she got the feeling He knew exactly where their conversation was going before she uttered a syllable. She also knew it was no game to Him to “humor” her questions and work through them with her--He loved it. Although she doubted this fact at times, it never seemed to stop her in the end from continuing to dialogue. She couldn’t get enough of the Master Painter.

“But you’re not doing anything,” the little piece of art mustered. “I haven’t felt your brush in a really long time.”

The Painter sat back and sighed, not a frustrated sigh, but a loving, patient one instead, satisfied--as if He’d just been waiting for this conversation to materialize.

“The notion that I am only at work when you feel or perceive it, Love, is a false one.”

He smiled knowingly at her thoughtful pause. Her classic puzzlement was also not unexpected.

“But what does that even mean? I'm just supposed to ‘trust’ that You’re not done even when I don’t feel anything?” The painting said, still mildly frustrated.

The Painter squinted a bit at the question, and answered, “You don’t have to do anything, my dear, but you’re on the right track: Trust.”

“What? I don’t get it.” She said, slightly defeated.

“Well, to ‘trust’ or not is always, a choice, my dear, and one that belongs to you alone.”

“Okay." She perked up, "I can understand that, but what I don’t get, I guess, is the difference between if I do ‘trust’ and if I don’t. Like, what does that have to do with anything?”

He smiled. She was quite often surprised at how even though He always seemed to know what she would say next, He never tired of her and almost seemed to even lead her questions. And this time, she could tell, she’d asked exactly what He wanted her to.

“To trust or not to trust is the difference between Art and Masterpiece.” 

He waited, as if to let her process for a moment, and then continued. “You are, and always will be a painting: a piece of art, intended for beauty and inspiration and everything else that art represents. That fact is immutable, but to trust or not to trust is the difference between remaining as the Art that you are now and becoming the Masterpiece that you were intended to be. I can be 'done' anytime you choose. But if you decide to let me be the the artist that I Am you will not always understand what it is I’m doing or how I’m doing it: Trust is ultimately the difference between good and best.

“Oh yeah. Good and best. We’ve been over that.” She said, after a while.

“Yes, we have.” He nodded, cheerfully.

“So, you said that You haven’t quit. You’re not done working on me, right? I mean, if I choose to trust like you said or whatever...?

“Or whatever...?” He laughed, and the colors on her canvas blushed a little. “Yes, it would follow, wouldn’t it?” He said, still laughing.

“So....” She trailed off, not sure if she wanted to finish the thought she began.

“Yes?”

“...well...” She held back only long enough to see in His eyes that he already knew, once more. “...Does every painting have to do the same thing?”

He nodded, not in answer to the question but in order to validate her inquiry.

“Yes and no.” He said, “There are principles in Art that apply to any piece. But fundamentally speaking, what is 'artistic' about every piece is its inherent uniqueness. The unique nature of any piece is due to the artist permitted to work on it, and the journey it undergoes. Therefore, as distinctive as every piece is, so will its process be. You, my Love, have only your process to worry about. And there will be times when your process will seem static for a time, but things are not always as they seem.”

“Okay,” She said, not skipping a beat, “But can You tell me when I’ll be able to know or feel You working on me again?!”

“No, honey, therein lies the rub. For now, it is for you to trust.”

“Okay, but what about why? It would make it ALL easier if I just knew why!”

He shook His head and didn’t speak for a while. She was wondering if He’d forgotten that she’d asked the question, but then feared a bit that He hadn’t. Maybe she’d crossed a line with the Painter that she shouldn’t have.

After a substantial silence, the Painter unsealed his pursed lips and finally spoke. The painting was relieved at His ever patient tone, but the twinge of pain in His voice was not lost on her either.

“I wish I could show you why, Love, but I can’t. It’s not something that you can grasp now nor benefit from. There will be a time, Someday, when you will understand so, so much more about your process, your journey, and your story. And as much as I long for that day as well, it is not now....”

He appeared to choke up a moment before finishing His thought:

“But regardless of that, please know that while your waiting and trusting--should you choose to--I love you and know what I’m doing. There is reason behind it all.”

She heard and understood, to the degree to which her mere capacity allowed. She knew He’d spoken and that He meant it and it was true. The Painter gazed at His small piece of art and she knew He was planning and dreaming for her. His plans and dreams weren’t always easily canvassed--but they also weren’t only good indeed, but best in the end. 

“Alright, Master.” She said with a freeing resignation. “But I hope it’s okay if it’s not easy for me. Like, ever.

In response, His gaze only glowed and deepened. Sometimes He didn’t need to speak. She knew He'd heard.