This story was inspired by the request of Kari Burch.
Once there was an artist who dreamed that his paintings would change the world.
He imagined people so inspired by his paintings that they would instantly fall in love, write poetry or maybe even heal the sick.
There was just one problem: his paintings weren’t that good.
His oil paintings were lackluster and his watercolors were washed out. People said they were “nice” and offered polite encouragement, but no one ooohed or ahhhed, and they certainly weren’t rushing off into inspired creation.
On a good day, he thought his art was okay. On a bad day, he was sure it belonged in the trash. The more he judged, the less he painted.
Then one day, he got fed up with his moping. It occurred to him that he needed fresh inspiration, and maybe some new paints would do the trick.
A new art store had just opened around the corner, so the artist set off on a mission. He marched to the store and right up to the smooth-faced man with kind eyes behind the counter.
“I need some paint that will make my art change the world,” he said.
The man with kind eyes smiled softly, and without saying a word, beckoned him to follow.
The artist, curious now, trailed him through the back of the store, down a dark hallway and into a room with a spotlight on an easel bearing the words:
Spirit Magic Paint. World-changing art since 1977.
Beneath the easel kits of Spirit Magic paint were stacked and wrapped in mysterious sparkling paper.
The man with kind eyes bowed and backed out of the room, leaving the artist alone.
“He could have at least invited me to try a sample,” the artist grumbled, then noticed one of the kits with a big TRY ME sign on it.
Drawn in, he tore open the sparkling package. Inside were three small vials.
“Three colors? You call that magic?”
The artist was expecting something more dramatic, like the deluxe Crayola sets he had as a kid with colors like cornflower blue and raw sienna.
He touched the first vial with Joy written on the label, and a jolt of energy shot through his arm.
Intrigued, the artist grabbed a palette, twisted open the vial of Joy, and squeezed a few drops into the tray and…
Can you imagine a color you’ve never seen before?
No, of course not! And I can’t describe it in a way that would be meaningful for you, either.
But can you imagine that a color you’ve never seen exists?
Ah. Let’s go with that.
The artist drew in a breath. The color of Joy was like goats leaping on the hillside, children splashing through mud puddles and the electric thrill of first love. It wasn’t one color at all, but a majestic waterfall of brilliant hues.
With trembling hands, he dipped a paintbrush into Joy and brought it to the canvas. His hand moved as if the paint itself was guiding him, and he painted an iridescent cosmic scene. He worked furiously for some minutes until he was done, and then stepped back.
His breath caught in his throat at the painting’s beauty. The artist could scarcely believe it was his!
He capped the vial of Joy and drew out a fresh canvas, eager for more.
He reached for the next vial. An icy cold chill ran down his spine and he read the label: Fear.
“Fear? How am I supposed to paint something world-changing with that?” the artist scoffed.
Still, he couldn’t help himself. He dripped Fear onto his palette.
This color, too, was unrecognizable, but familiar. Like dark nights and the foreboding of walking through a graveyard, the ache of loss and aloneness.
His brush dove into the Fear and slashed across the canvas like. His heartbeat pounded in his ears and his breath came fast. At last, he was done.
The painting was like a black hole, a desolate universe sprinkled with meager stars. Cold, beautiful and terrifying.
“Woah,” the artist said, shaken that something so bleak could have emerged from his hand.
Then the artist reached for the final vial: Trust.
He slid a new canvas onto the easel, dipped his brush into
Trust and closed his eyes.
He could feel everything: the palette, the brush in his hand, the bristles on the canvas, the air in the room. Eyes closed, he let the spirit of Trust move him.
His hands fluttered before the canvas, then paused, listening.
He swayed softly, as if he were dancing to music only he could hear. His brush kissed the canvas. The wall. The air itself. Stillness returned, and then the dance continued.
The artist painted until he knew, somehow, the painting was finished.
He blinked open his eyes and gasped.
Before him was a mural that filled the entire room, as if the painting had exploded off the canvas and over the walls, the chair, the floor, and even the space between them.
It was a tapestry of a man’s life, from birth to death, told in rich, intricate detail. It was his.
The artist wept, overwhelmed. It was world-changing. This was his life told through his art – and it was changing the world.
When his tears were spent, the artist crept out of the room on quiet feet, returning to the man with kind eyes behind the counter.
“I think I made a mess in there,” the artist said, eyes lowered.
The kind man smiled. “You used Trust? It makes a glorious mess every time. That’s part of the design.”
The artist left the store that day with no new paints, but with a quiet knowing.
His art was always doing exactly what it was meant to do. And that was enough.
🎨 🖌️
Yours in love and play,
Steph
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