The Artist

Once upon a time, there lived an artist of considerable talent - like no artist who had lived before or after.  He was a painter, poet, composer, sculptor, inventor, and architect.  His home was a museum filled with all he had created.

But there came a time when he went away and left his home there in the woods - because he had finished all that he wanted to say, paint, write, and compose.  He left his home open, in hopes that others would discover it and would enjoy the things he had crafted.  And, as it happened, people did find the house, and upon finding it, became both interested and obsessed with the creative wonders they found there.  There was speculation about the artist and as you might expect, research commenced.  Books were written.  Speeches given.  Theories espoused.

The front lawn became a regular gathering place for the followers.  Debates ensued between factions celebrating different aspects of the artist’s work.  At times the front lawn followers could get pretty fanatical - with bumper stickers and handouts, T-shirts and even membership dues.

At the same time, others found their way to the artist through the back woods.  They were seemingly oblivious to all the commotion on the front lawn, or at least uninterested in it.  They had been drawn to the house by its unusual architecture, or through hearing the musical compositions floating into the woods.  Intrigued, they wanted a closer look, a closer listen.  Through the back window of the artist’s house, they could see the sculptures and the painting and odd inventions.  Some became so curious they pried open a window to get a better look.  Many worshiped right there from the window sill.  Still others crawled inside and handled the pottery and touched the brush strokes on the paintings.  A number of folk seemed more interested in the inventions and even disassembled them to learn how they worked.

These people who entered through the back woods came to love the artist too, although they knew little about him - not his name, nor the particulars of his life.  They knew him only through his work.

And so it was.  This magnificent creator affected the lives of hundreds and thousands of people - but in very different ways.  Some developed a relationship with him by pulling up a lawn chair or filling a pew to hear a front lawn sermon.  Most chose to enter the house through the front door with all the appropriate introductions.  There were however many who came to the artist through the back woods.  Some never learned his name or chose to hear a lecture.  They never joined the club or paid the dues, but they truly loved his work.  Some never got closer than the window sill, but they lived out their lives in love with the artist and dancing to the sounds of his music.