A Peace of Art

After a long winter, a fine layer of dust has settled over everything in my house.  While I am not a germaphobe, I do like cleanliness.  Therefore, since I am on Spring Break this week, and we are not taking a trip, I decided that my goal for the week was to do a little Spring Cleaning.

Today’s focus was the dining room. I decided that if I tackle one room per day, I wouldn’t get so overwhelmed.  The first task was to empty and wash each item in my hutch.  I hate clutter, but you wouldn’t be able to guess that by looking in my hutch.  Inside is an eclectic collection of crystal dishes, porcelain figurines, and other bric-a-brac.  Most everything in the hutch has a history and a story attached to it.

This fact came to mind as I carefully removed six delicate cups and saucers.  These days, there isn’t much call for such tea cups and saucers.  Afternoon tea parties are a rarity in this day and age, and if something happened to me or my husband, I fear that my kids would put them on a garage sale table.  To the current generation, they are considered useless trinkets that take up space, pretty baubles with no value other than aesthetic beauty.  While their usefulness may be an arguable point, the truth is that they are priceless, and here’s why.

According to what I was told, my great-great-great grandparents emigrated from Germany.  Among the possessions in the steamer trunk were these very cups and saucers.  Thus, the cups and saucers were made by artisans in Germany, and they somehow survived the journey from Germany to my hutch. 

As I carefully washed each piece in soapy water, I ran my fingers along the inside of the cups where I was surprised to feel a bump, kind of like a speed bump, along the rim of each cup. Some wise craftsman had created the bump so that tea drinker could sip without fear of the liquid “jumping the barrier” before required to do so.  Looking closely, I marveled at how the artist so skillfully attached the handle, delicate yet strong at the same time.

As I rinsed the dishes, I wondered, Why just six cups and saucers? Was there one of each for each member of the family? Were they intended for everyday use? If not, why include them in the steamer trunk, where they took up precious room for other, more useful items? Were they a wedding gift? Were they intended to be a prize item to be displayed with pride in a new house in America? Did they anticipate entertaining new friends in a new country?

I will never know the answers to these questions because anybody who could tell me the answer is now gone.  Gone also is the craftsman who created the pieces.  As he formed each piece, did he wonder where his art would end up, and with whom?

While the creator is gone, his art remains for us, most specifically, me, to enjoy and appreciate.  That alone assures its usefulness to me.  Not only are the pieces items of beauty, indicative of the imagination and skill of the artisan; they are also anchors to my past , a tangible reminder of who I am and a chapter in the story of me. 

In the same vein, sunsets, waterfalls, lilac bushes, and even the delicate lace of dragonfly’s wings are indicative of the imagination and creativity of the Creator.  Like the cups, the usefulness of each item in the list might be arguable. However, there is no denying sensory explosion of each; their aesthetic appeal awes and humbles us.  Likewise, each is a tangible manifestation of the Creator; we are reminded of His existence and His creative expertise. Best of all, we are proudly reminded of the fact that we are related to this creative genius. His works of art are tangible reminders of who we are; therefore, we can say with pride and without hesitation, “My Dad made that!”

John Keats, the poet, once wrote:

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing…

Our Creator, in His ultimate wisdom, surrounded us with a creative palette of endless beauty and designs that cause to shake our heads at the marvelous complexity of it all.  Even so, as Keats’s poetry describe, the end result is a confirmation of the Creator and His unquestionable skill and an ensuing, indescribable peace.