Two of Staffs

I took a painting class today, and before we were allowed to touch the staffs, our teacher asked us to close our eyes.

I expected her to explain the paints or show us the patterns we could use. Instead, she began speaking softly and asked us to imagine the staff before us already finished. What colors did we see? What shapes appeared? What did we want to place near the top? She gave us time between each question, and slowly an image began assembling itself in my mind.

At first, I kept trying to decide what it should look like. Then I stopped deciding and started seeing. Deep reds. Feathers near the top. A geometric pattern running down the wood. One detail appeared, then another, until I could almost picture the whole thing standing in front of me.

When I opened my eyes, the unfinished staff was still lying on the cloth. Nothing about it had changed, yet I had. I knew what I wanted to make.

For the rest of the afternoon, I kept thinking about that moment before we picked up our brushes. I usually think creation begins when I start doing something. Today it began earlier, with my eyes closed, when something that did not exist yet became clear enough for me to see.