Defining God

Inspiration can come from anywhere. Many artists have turn towards nature. Others turn towards other artists. Still others find inspiration from the mundane, reading between the lines of the beautiful and extracting the commonplace. Take Degas and his dancers for instance. It was rarely beautiful pirouettes that coaxed his pencil to his paper. Rather, it was the lacing of their ballet slippers or the twisting of their hair that caught his eye and told him, “Create.” For Leon Lhermitte, his canvases often depicted the back-breaking farm work of rural peasants. For Elizabeth Gilbert, her own story inspired her.

With great hesitation I place myself under the great expansive umbrella of the artists of human history. I am passionate, yes. But ignorant also. Eager to learn, to inspire, and to be inspired. I feel like a newly hatched chick, peeping excessively, and almost unnoticeably. I squeeze in at the outermost edge, one shoulder rubbing the shoulder of another who has been in the game a little longer than I, but still a novice. Everything but their toes is shielded under the grand parasol. I, on the other hand, have a whole shoulder exposed to the elements. I glance over it sheepishly, wondering if I am qualified enough to be edging my way in. Is there such thing as a qualification? Do I need anymore than the desire to create? Can you create without being an artist? Can you be an artist without creating? Should I even bother with attempting to define the role of an artist? Many theists believe we as humans are “co-creators” with God. Perhaps it is as futile to attempt to define who an artist is, as it is to attempt to define God.