Reflections On Light In Art

I rolled out of bed early and looked out the window with a groan. Snow. April 15. Not cool. But this is western New York and it always snows in April. Still, it doesn't feel temporary during these long stay at home days. Then the morning light. It caught my eye as I walked by windows full of bright, falling white. There's something about morning that just won't let you not see the earth's transformation as it moves low and then high against the sky. What is it about certain times of day that create nostaglia and memory? I have a very specific feeling that I can recall every time I see this kind of light.   It convinces. It interrupts your current activity. It compels you to look, to see, to wonder and ponder it's presence. What more can one do but to stop and pay attention. So that's what I did. “Learn to light a candle in the darkest moments of someone’s life.  Be the light that helps others see; it is what...

It's been coming in slowly  these past few months. Traces hardly noticed when blanketed snow is present, yet it lies waiting, anticipating the moments when temperatures say rise and the Son comes again after three days  in the ground.  "Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice!  Let your gentleness be apparent to all.  The Lord is near.  Be anxious for nothing, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving,  present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding,  will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus." ~Philippians 4:4-7 ~ Post by Elsa

~ Post by Elsa So a couple of days ago we went on another hike into the woods. I decided to look even closer than I had before. I don't think the animals are used to humans walking through that part of the woods. It was quiet aside from the rustling noises of my children ahead. At a certain point I couldn't see them anymore and they began to call up to me through the steep incline of trees. We had recently watched Frozen 2 and I couldn't help but answer them with that three note "Elsa" call. I heard laughter and then a musical reply. There isn't a real path to the creek. We always walk along a ridge that goes down very steeply and I usually lag behind. My family says it's because I have to stop and look at every little thing. I say it's because the woods are amazing and full of intricate patterns and unbelievable details. Here are a few of the close observations that I made. I was looking for reflections but they weren't easy to find until I ...