Art Work from God

Both the inside of the exhibition hall and the outside area around it are still more or less under construction, the outside area much more so than inside though. There are piles of bolders out front, logs lying about, and low-lying swampy areas. But I am rather enamored of one thing out there, a red fire hydrant atop a gravel mound, which marks where the pavement will be when all is said and done. I guess because this reminds me of the first thing I ever published, an article in the university paper about my favorite piece of artwork on campus. In fact it was not a piece of artwork at all; it had been a very practical marker telling students which building was where but then all of its signage had been removed, revealing two thick pieces of rebarb, which stuck out at odd angles from the cement base. In my essay, I hypothesized that this piece of artwork had been dropped down by God, to remind us that perfection was not the goal, but rather truth. So I think I may be a little sad when everything is neat and tidy looking out front, as if we did not have enough faith and trust in him who is above. But the fire hydrant will at least be there to remind me of what lies beneath.

And that makes me think that maybe I do still have something in common with the 19 year old California college student I once was, so long ago and so far away.