I live in the “City of the Arts.” Any given Spring weekend, as I stroll along the tree-lined streets of Downtown, I may hear musical strands exiting the Art Nouveau facades. Ethnic aromas swirl through the arbors and outdoor bistros, enticing me to turn aside. Local art galleries fill in the negative space between local eateries and performance venues. The hibernating Sawtooth fountain awakens again, diamond blue with the gentle whisper of the waters. Yes, it is Spring and the arts are coming alive in Winston-Salem.
But, there is an Artist who ever lives. I know him well. His artwork graced the universe before a man ever awoke. He is God, the Creator… my Father. All of Art history is nothing more than an attempt to emulate the Great Artist.
Early in the morning, before the vintage downtown doors ever open, His artwork is on display. Sunlight striking red, blue, and yellow as holy feathered choruses rejoice through the air and trees. The sweet breath of floral scents engages all my senses. Wind-kissed petals delicately dance along a green canvas dotted with translucent pinks and purples. The curtain rises as this story, the story of life, unfolds…the world is awake. And I… am… alive.
