My mother always said that she wasn’t an artist, but I think we both knew that wasn’t true. With the courage and audacity of a Rothko, she stood in front of the mirror and created the perfect shade of blue, bringing out eyes, strengthening shoulders, softening lines. Somewhere between a Mediterranean Sea and an open sky, she, without spelling it out for me, let me know that joy arrives in every shade of blue.
Some may say the sea is blue. It makes me laugh. As much as when people say, they want to be happy. The color of the water depends on the depth, the sun, the wind, the beholder. There is no one color. There is no one happiness. I’m not sure I could even define happiness. For all the striving, I think it is fleeting. What is lasting, in my humble opinion, is joy. This feeling of peace and hope, a turquoise of glee, even when the skies take upon a gray, or the waves rock in with extra white, it is there. Arms waving. Arms contemplating. Arms holding. Or hopeful. It is there.
And I want to see it all. I was made for this — to not turn away — but to face. I hope you can feel. Walk toward it. Welcome it. Joy is arriving.
