When I was just a little messy water coloring, I often would wondered what kind of art I would grow up to be. I wondered if I would be Goth, though I knew that was a bit of a stretch seeing as though I never had a dark bone in my body. I wondered if I would be symmetrical the kind that is organized and so clean and a balanced that it can’t help but reflect the epitome of beauty. Or perhaps I would be a landscape, an adventurer of sorts, someone who was down to earth and can be stretched out to unravel the wonders of nature. What would it be like to glow blue with serenity and peace. To be someone who would be outgoing yet calming. Or perhaps I would be an eccentric yellow, a kind of art that is sometimes loud but mostly admirable. Or I could be an abrasive orange having my thoughts leap off my aggressive canvas. Or if I tried hard enough I could be elegant and hold a classic beauty that was formed out of delicate brush strokes of passionate red.
I spent my whole life being viewed by patrons of the arts trying to hear and keen in on what they were saying so that I could figure out which kind of art I was, or rather should be. I was trying to find some acclaim value to myself seeking out the approval and recognition of connoisseurs of the arts that could fill my self-esteem bucket with some empty words as they would rub their folded hands with their index finger pointed out across their chin as if they were pondering some deep ideological thought.
Oh, how I was ill prepared for when an art-loving boy would walk into the art gallery and change my life forever. A boy whose eyes held the color of the ocean water and his hair the color of the sand. An onlooker who had a unique and persistent perspective. A boy who claimed he knew of a piece of art when he saw it and he stopped in front of me.
He looked down at the golden plate that was beneath me that held my title. His face lit up with amusement when he saw it read, “Watercolor, stroked in the traditional shade goody two shoes with a hint of sarcasm”. He saw that I was painted on a lightweight canvas, framed by a wonderstruck wood and painted in 1996. Ever since then he would waltz into the gallery darting straight for me. He would stand there in awe and eventually he made me his art.
He helped me to understand my true value when others would stare, scoff, and then scatter away. When people would speak with hate or criticism, spit would come flying out of their self-loathing mouths only to land on me which would always cause my colors to run. He would be right there to catch it with his finger, dap the stain away, and try to restore me to new.
He helped me to understand that I will hang on many walls and be on display many times in my life, but that was part of being a piece of art. But even if I feel stuck to a wall, my attitude and perspective can give my surroundings a whole new meaning. I was able to understand that even when I am on display I am allowed to be me and fully embrace what that meant because ultimately I cannot rearrange or change the particles that were thrown onto my canvas, and I shouldn’t want to rearrange them because I would miss out on the crazy adventure that is me.
He took the time to understand each brush stroke, even the mistaken and gloomy ones that made me who I am. He took my unsymmetrical flaws for what they were, which was really just authenticity and disorganized beauty. He showed me that each texture that I held was not a complication, but rather a showcase of the creativity and talents I held. He allowed me to show off my mistakes, even under harsh lighting, knowing I could find relief through unloading such burdens. He made me realize that no one will value a piece of art that doesn’t value itself.
He saw an abstract piece of art that deserved to be displayed for all of the world to see when I questioned whether I was even worth to hang on someone refrigerator. He saw me as priceless and as something that could never be bought or sold, even when I felt like settling for the highest bidder. He saw art that could never be recreated or copied even if someone tried, even when I feel as basic as a coloring page. He saw me as art, and because of that, I discovered my masterpiece.
