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September 05, 2007
Saving a Bird
In some sort of haze, I remember driving along this normally very busy road… but this was a Sunday morning. Traffic was low, and it was still slightly cooler outside for the kind of heat we are used to having in summer.
A white car in the outside lane veered way out into my lane -very fast, as if a precious thing were in its’ path. The car was far enough ahead of me that it didn’t affect my ability to get out of the way. As I passed the spot the car had avoided, there was a dark, grey bird that appeared to be almost sitting, looking puffy and stunned. I couldn’t see if it was some sort of baby bird unable to fly, or perhaps an adult who might have just been hit before this car avoided it. I also could not see what kind of bird it was, as I was still driving and looking into my rear view mirror to get any of this.
As I pulled up to the light, which was well away from the bird incident, the white car was in the turn lane next to me, but still slightly ahead. As I looked to see the driver, I could see it was a woman with a baby in the back seat.
She was smiling and mouthing to me that she was sorry, and I said in my animated jesters back to her, that it was OK. I then said, “It was a bird!” She nodded, and continued to look back at me with her humble, warm smile. This is when it dawned on me what culture she looked to be from… Native American, I am sure, and probably of Mexican decent, judging from the area of town we were in. This is also the part of town I chose to live in, partly because of this cultural influence, but mainly because the neighborhood has large old trees and affordable homes that were built in the 1950’s.
I felt so wonderful after realizing that this woman cared enough about the bird to avoid hitting it. How many people would do such a thing? How many would apologize to anyone driving around them, who could have been hit?
As I was assimilating all that I experienced, a large truck pulled out to the right of me, nearly plowing into my side, forcing me to veer way out to the left to avoid it.
I was a little shook up as I drove further, and grasped the steering wheel reminding myself to pay attention… people seemed a bit risky today.
My thought process was side tracked for a moment, and then something came into my head just like that large truck that was about to hit me.
With utmost care, a message had just been given to me in all the glorious synchronicity that the universe could ever possibly put together. I had recently been questioning what I have been doing in my work – my paintings. There are various reasons, as I often feel left out in the cold when it comes to what others think of the subject matter.
Does anyone ever see what I am trying to communicate? Does anyone care about these People and their message (which I believe is for all of us), or for that matter, do they care enough to buy one and take it home? Some do, but often the process seems like trying to run in deep mud.
Here was this woman, a certain relative of these very People I paint, risking herself, her baby and whatever else could have been close to her at that moment… to avoid a small bird in the road. Not only did she avoid the bird, she saw it as her duty to let me know she was sorry for putting me at risk.
Any of us are capable of a kind act, and certainly my faith for the human race was lifted that day. But I would be fooling myself if I said that painting any culture would be appropriate to bring these messages forth… at least, for me.
I live in Texas, where I read they recently found the bones of a woman that go back nearly 45 thousand years ago. She is probably a distant relative to what we call ‘Indians’ from these lands of the Americas.
I thought I chose these indigenous people as my subject matter, but perhaps it’s more likely that they chose me. Oh, I don’t mean their modern sisters and brothers, who probably cannot help but look at me like I am an outsider. I am referring to the ancient ones… the strong voices from the past. After all, I am in an area where many have lived and died for thousands of years, telling me there is much spirit roaming this land.
Tears welled up in my eyes, as I was reminded of why I paint these beautiful People and their valuable truth… a truth that belongs to all of us, if we only look.
Validation is sweet, even if it comes slow and often seems hidden from view.
How my heart loves to be reminded of its’ passion.
I am so humbly grateful for this much needed guidance, wherever it comes from.
Posted by kay at September 5, 2007 02:38 AM