This commentary and picture collages were published on the Facebook page for the Raffle that will be held for the Painting on 9/14/2019. I hope you enjoy it as much as we enjoyed creating it.
Tickets in the form of donations of $5 increments can be made HERE
In it's infancy, the painting is just the beginning of our lives. As a child we watch the master at work, knowing that they will create something magical, a piece that draws us toward the scene, unaware that by the time it is finished we may want to run the other way, retching as realization comes to us for the new reality that we are now in.
Yellow is the person who is helping to care for the Alzheimer's/Dementia person
Purple signifies a loss of a loved one/friend that finally succumbed to the disease.
Orange flowers are those who are not directly affected by Alzheimer's/Dementia, but care enough to take a stand and lift their voice in support.
One day the promise will hopefully be broken.
But as the supporters gather around the tree, the leaves begin to make their journey to their new destination, a place that is unknown to them or the others below. They do not leave because of desire, rather the wind that has kept them stirred and alive has now started to blow increasingly, ripping them from their moorings without warning, carrying the leaves on the breeze across the landscape.
As the leaves ride the winds, they begin to change, losing the vibrancy of their once proud bodies. Even the grasses are in transition as they are forced to bend to the weight of the wind. Some are able to stand firm, others start to tilt, yet others become a blur, indistinguishable to anyone or anything around them. Yet the Painter is still in control, making sure that no one is forgotten, no stone left unturned.
In the end, the Painter is still there, still tending to the scene, lending their signature, saying, "I'm here, I know, I understand, I created each of you, you are not forgotten, you will still be with me in the end."
One day the Painter will add a new flower that will overrun the garden, a White Flower, without Blemish, Pure, Cleansed, so that the other flowers can dwindle in number until finally only 1 color remains.
Tickets in the form of donations of $5 increments can be made HERE
In it's infancy, the painting is just the beginning of our lives. As a child we watch the master at work, knowing that they will create something magical, a piece that draws us toward the scene, unaware that by the time it is finished we may want to run the other way, retching as realization comes to us for the new reality that we are now in.
The clouds start to build on the horizon, bringing life to a vast sea of
nothingness. A life is about to be formed and what seemed like it had
no beginning, no end, no purpose is about to be birthed into a new
world.
As the clouds start to build, we draw our eyes toward the bottom,
awaiting for something to arise from the depths, and it does. There is
land now, awaiting to provide nutrients to whatever finds it way and
attaches itself with deep roots.
Behold! A Tree has sprung forth. A new life has begun. Branches reach
higher and higher toward the sky, seeking the warmth of the sun that
will be needed to grow the leaves for a tree that will do many things:
Bring shade to the weary, provide safety for those who feel threatened,
and help to build others up when it can no longer sustain it's own life,
laying it's life down so that others can live.
As the tree becomes full, it becomes a great symbol of life to all those
around. Other beings gravitate and want to be near so that they can
learn, yet feel the protection that the tree can afford. They do not
take away from the life nor the nutrients of the tree, instead they
enhance the tree, even providing a firm foundation in the ground below
to keep it steady and strong.
As the tree becomes full, it becomes a great symbol of life to all those
around. Other beings gravitate and want to be near so that they can
learn, yet feel the protection that the tree can afford. They do not
take away from the life nor the nutrients of the tree, instead they
enhance the tree, even providing a firm foundation in the ground below
to keep it steady and strong.
As the tree ages it is no longer as vibrant as it once was. To most
observers nothing has changed, maybe it has gotten even better as the
scenery continues to develop all around it. The promise of what is to
come becomes the garden that surrounds the tree.
Blue signifies the one who lives with Dementia/Alzheimer'sYellow is the person who is helping to care for the Alzheimer's/Dementia person
Purple signifies a loss of a loved one/friend that finally succumbed to the disease.
Orange flowers are those who are not directly affected by Alzheimer's/Dementia, but care enough to take a stand and lift their voice in support.
One day the promise will hopefully be broken.
But as the supporters gather around the tree, the leaves begin to make their journey to their new destination, a place that is unknown to them or the others below. They do not leave because of desire, rather the wind that has kept them stirred and alive has now started to blow increasingly, ripping them from their moorings without warning, carrying the leaves on the breeze across the landscape.
As the leaves ride the winds, they begin to change, losing the vibrancy of their once proud bodies. Even the grasses are in transition as they are forced to bend to the weight of the wind. Some are able to stand firm, others start to tilt, yet others become a blur, indistinguishable to anyone or anything around them. Yet the Painter is still in control, making sure that no one is forgotten, no stone left unturned.
In the end, the Painter is still there, still tending to the scene, lending their signature, saying, "I'm here, I know, I understand, I created each of you, you are not forgotten, you will still be with me in the end."
One day the Painter will add a new flower that will overrun the garden, a White Flower, without Blemish, Pure, Cleansed, so that the other flowers can dwindle in number until finally only 1 color remains.
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Thanks,
Keith