How do you react in the face of beauty?
I remember almost too vividly the first time I set my eye on a masterpiece. No it wasn’t the monalisa but I doubt the monalisa could have even come close to what I was beholding. Something about this painting evoked your senses to awakening delight. Something inside of me stirred as I looked at the delicate painting. I had to pause and remind myself so many times that this thing was a lifeless projection of an artists imagination but how was it that something so lifeless was filling my heart with so much life? Was this the artists intention? Did he know that people would see this painting and feel something in their heart they’ve never felt before as their minds explored countless beautiful interpretations of what the painting might be trying to say, each interpretation sitting a little too close to home. Was this his plan?
I stood on that spot. Fixated, refusing to move wondering how long it must have take for it to be created. How many crumpled papers? What thoughts must he have been thinking? What brushes must he have used? I remember thinking to myself that his mind must be extremely beautiful to think up such gorgeousness. Was this his minds intention? Did it come close? I scanned the painting, no sign of the artist. No name, no address. I sighed.
“Can I buy this painting?” I asked the nearest vendor who I presumed to be the gallery owner
“It’s not for sale. It’s the artist’s personal piece”
That explained why there was no name or price tag. Yet I couldn’t move. I was enthralled and there was really no going back. I thought, for a very brief moment about stealing it. Or hiding it. I thought about framing it or just relocating to it’s forefront and basking in its beauty, never leaving. I thought about a lot of other things that I’m too ashamed to say aloud. The painting was that beautiful.
The sound came as though it was coming from far away. A ripping sound like a zip opening too fast. Something was tearing and it wasn’t just the water filling up in my eyes. I glared in annoyance at the woman standing by my side. A woman who just moments ago had told me this painting was not for sale. I stared at the blade in her hands and my chest tightened. Why would you run a blade across a perfectly beautiful painting? Why? It’s not even yours, who gave you the right? I felt my heart drop to my feet. My chest ached in ways I cannot explain. I looked at what moments ago had been a perfection of beauty and sighed as I saw the hole in the middle. I heard another sound, it was a gasp. I turned in the direction of the soft cry just in time to see the artist, brush in hand, his face distorted in pain as he stared at his masterpiece. His personal piece, torn to almost shreds.
“It wasn’t even finished yet” he cried.
I wondered quietly to myself, what else there was to paint. The gallery owner still stood to my side, defensive, blade in hand, not willing to let go. I walked out of that room wondering to myself what would drive a person to run a blade across a perfectly beautiful painting, why would anyone in their right mind, want to mess with perfection?
This is what it feels like, everytime you use your mouth to discredit what God has called perfect and beautiful. Everytime you look in the mirror and see yourself as less than he has created you to be. This is how the Angels wonder, why someone in their right mind would ever want to mess with beautiful perfection. You are not just a masterpiece. You are the Master’s piece♥️