A work in progress

My sweet father -in- law is an artist.

In a previous blog, I mentioned how when

we went to the beach, he chose a place 

to sit and sketch 

a beautiful scene.

He worked at this every day for several hours, 

lifting his pencil horizontally 

in his outstretched hand,

one eye squinted,

thoughtfully gaging 

the proportions of the scene ahead of him,

oblivious to passers by (well, most of them :)

and small children putting sand on his chair.

And when we returned from the beach,

he made our porch his studio,

the Jarabacoa valley his back drop,

and continued to work on his picture.

He used a postcard to mentally

take him back to the exact location

he sat, beneath the canopy

of dangling branches from a mangrove tree.

This is where he sat.

This is the rendering right before

it was packed in his suitcase.

I can't wait to see the finished one!

All of this made me think about

how intentional he was

about incorporating art 

into his daily life.

I'd like to do that - somehow.

This also made me think about 

how I am a work in progress,

and how I need to yield to 

the master.  

Sometimes

I am undone 

at being undone.

But it's okay.