Filed under: Non-Knitting
I am the daughter of an art dealer, and a modern-art dealer at that. I was taught by my father and his artist friend Nat Leeb to spend a lot of time looking at a scene or a painting, not to make snap judgments or brush strokes, but to observe first. “Look at it for ten minutes: paint for one,” M. Leeb told me the summer I was 16, as if I were his art student. (My little sister was superb with a paintbrush and a gifted artist in her own right. I, however, could only wish. My knitting later grew to fill that niche for me.)
When I saw that photo from Jim, just the top showed on my screen at first, and that shaft of light and the glow it emanated from really stood out. As I scrolled down, the closer to the earth, the more it faded into the overall picture. You had to be looking for it then to really see the same brightness it had had just a moment ago.
I’m sure Jim snapped that to show his son later the perspective on the scene that day. To me, though, and the reason I asked them and then posted it on Easter Sunday, was that the ski lift looked like a modern-art version, for his family, anyway, of the Cross. The suffering of the son, the compassion and love of the father.
And I saw the huge need for each human being to step up when help is needed.
And the huge need to say thank you when they do.
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[…] I was surprised when the doorbell rang just now, rescuing me: Jim, (written about here, here, here, here, here and here–he’s Nicholas’s dad) holding a sweater out sheepishly. […]
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