pastel

An elderly woman stopped to see my artwork one day while I was open-air pastel painting. I felt slightly annoyed that my work was interrupted. I had made a commitment to paint for an hour before other obligations pressed my day. I only had about 30 seconds to decide how I was going to respond when this woman first approached me.

When she asked if she could see my work, I invited her to come closer. To my surprise, our conversation quickly grew serious. She confided that her husband had had several mistresses. So they divorced.

The next year, she said, her daughter gave birth to premature twins. Her daughter had been complaining that she didn’t feel well before the delivery, but her doctor dismissed her problems. She died one month later of cancer.

“I’m all broken up on the inside,” the woman said.

Fifteen minutes into our conversation, she suddenly stopped talking and peered into my pastel box with childlike wonder. “But this,” she said, “fills my soul.”

It amazed me, after hearing about her profound suffering, that a few pieces of colorful pastels could bring joy to this woman. I felt nudged to give her my painting. But a struggle ensued in my mind. I didn’t want to give it up.

Over the next few minutes, I didn’t really hear any more of her words because a conversation was taking place in my own head. Why not give up the painting? I can’t give it up because it is an important work. I don’t even have my camera to chronicle it.

I waited a couple more minutes—for my will to catch up with my heart. Then I took the plunge. I said, “I would like to give you my painting.”

She refused my offer. But I persisted.

Then I saw her smile. The woman left with my painting in hand. The elderly woman had awakened my heart.