“This world is
but a canvas
to our imagination.” 
Henry David Thoreau

For most of my life, I willingly admitted to being artistically challenged. When I think back to art classes in my elementary school years, I recall four images I relied upon to be an active participant in those classes. The first was the brick wall. Using colored pencils, I covered the art paper in red. Then, with the precision of a professional mason, I used my black pencil and a ruler to cover the red background with offset rectangles. The finished product looked like… yes, a brick wall. I know I submitted this image multiple times.  

The second image was a road through a desert which led to a gap in the distant mountains, behind which the sun was setting. I tossed in a few cactus plants along the side of the road for good measure. The effort I devoted to creating a colorful sunset apparently compensated for my overall lack of artistic ability. This image, too, was submitted more than once.

At some point, maybe around fifth or sixth grade, I learned how to create a cherry blossom tree. I began with a blob of black India ink at the bottom of the page. Using a plastic straw, I carefully blew through the straw, causing various veins of ink to climb toward the top of the paper to create the effect of tree branches. Once the ink dried, I added small clusters of pink flowers to the branches of the tree. 

Finally, in eighth grade, I recall drawing a scene one might see looking out over the Pacific Ocean. I drew the dark blue water of the ocean with a perfectly straight horizon. Using a grey colored pencil, I added puffy clouds just above the horizon, with a bit of light blue sky above it. And on the water, I placed one small boat. That’s it.

I don’t recall ever taking an art class after eighth grade, so I was spared the embarrassment of continuing to draw simplistic scenes.

It’s not that I don’t appreciate art. I honestly do. In most cases, however, I don’t understand what I’m viewing. A couple of years ago, I went to the Vincent Van Gogh exhibit in San José. I was impressed. I was looking at real art, produced by a famous artist. Did I understand the meaning of his works? Not at all. Despite this, I could enjoy and appreciate the colors and creativity on exhibit.

It was only in later years that I came to the realization that painting is but one form of art. Writing is art. I do this fairly well. Poetry is art. This, too, is something I can do with relative competence. Music and drama are also forms of art which I can appreciate. Much of the artwork painted on canvas, however, remains a mystery to me — and yet, I can look at a piece of art with a sense of awe and gratitude.

I was in San Francisco today to have breakfast with a friend. Following breakfast, I walked from Tennessee Grill at 22nd & Taraval back to my car, which I’d parked on Sloat Boulevard, directly across from Java Beach Café. It was lunch time, so I decided to get a sandwich before beginning the hour-long drive back to San José. It was there that I met Nikki. She is an artist. A real artist. What I mean by this is that painting is more than just a hobby for her. It’s what she does. Our conversation was brief, but she gave me her business card, so I checked out her website when I returned home this evening. The image above includes just three of the many paintings on display on her web site. Nikki is definitely a gifted artist.

While I lack the ability to look at these works of art and comprehend a deeper meaning behind them, if such meanings even exist, I can readily appreciate the creativity, the color, and the placement on the canvas which make them what they are. I may never know the true meaning of a work of art, but I know what I like when I see it. Seeing Nikki’s work this evening, I like it.

When it comes to collections of fine art, I can relate to the words of Polish-American novelist Jerzy Kosiński who wrote, “I collect human relationships very much the way others collect fine art.” And I treasure my relationships no less than one would cherish the most exquisite collection of masterpieces.