Imponderable questions

intuition, gut-feelings, and hunches

(If this email gets cut off, you can read the entire story on my website.)

Dear Reader,

Some years ago, my family and I were visiting an old town famous for many ancient and historical landmarks. We were on a last-minute weekend visit, one we’d embarked on knowing full well that most of the time would go in driving there and back. And, that we would have to return for a longer stay if we wanted to fully experience the place. It was the morning of our last day there. I don’t remember all the details, but I think it was probably mid-morning. I know we had finished a late breakfast, one we’d dawdled over in our reluctance to leave, and were now about to start our long drive home. I’d heard of the town’s famous antique market, but I’d already decided it would’ve have to wait for that second, more leisurely, visit. Though, given how fraught life was then, I didn’t know when we would come back. So, you can see, we hadn’t even left and already, we longed to return to the very same place. (There must be a word for that. That has also been, many times, my experience of life.)

As the car started, I realized I’d left my water bottle behind in the restaurant. “You can turn the car around. I’ll be back in a minute,” I must’ve said. I walked to the restaurant which was just across the road from where we were parked and found the water bottle on the table where we’d been seated. I must’ve nodded to the restaurant manager at his desk next to the door and stepped outside. Our car was now parked across a small street to my right, and facing the road home. I moved to cross the street and casually glanced to my right to check for oncoming traffic. The street was mostly empty. It was lined with stores and some of them looked like they were just opening for the day. I’d almost crossed before I realized this was the street with the antique stores. I stopped at the car, my hand on the door, sudden excitement building inside me. Surely, thirty minutes won’t make a difference, I must’ve thought, feeling giddy at the possibility of a sudden reprieve. I must’ve decided to ask if we could delay our drive back just a little, but almost as soon as I opened the door, I remember hearing the word, Go! I guess they’d already seen the dawning wonder on my face.

I love going out into the forest and by the water, but I also like antique shops, art galleries, flea markets, second-hand stores of all kinds, and museums. I’ve given up trying to define what exactly they do for my creativity, but it has something to do with objects that have stories to tell, and with colors and forms. All I know is they enrich my writing and conversely, the more I write, the more I seem to need these spaces. Reader, I am sure you will resonate with that.

In order to have a real relationship with our creativity, we must take the time and care to cultivate it. Our creativity will use this time to confront us, to confide in us, to bond with us, and to plan. - Julia Cameron, The Artist’s Way

Anyway, I walked slowly down the narrow street and stopped at what looked like the biggest store. I entered, said Hello to the salesman, and wandered down the aisle. I remember there were wooden doors, carved columns, and kitchen utensils, among other things. At the back of the store, stacks of paintings leaned haphazardly against the wall. The light was a little dim here, and it was quieter though that might have been the sudden hush inside of me, an awakening of attention. There’s some magic that traditional art, golden frames, gilded figures, and old glass-fronted paintings hold for me. And, an even deeper magic to colors like brick red, royal blue, and river green. Perhaps what I’m really trying to say is maybe a part of the soul of the artist remains in their creations, and when we stand in front of art, two souls might talk to each other. Or, maybe, art acts as mirror and we briefly, ecstatically, glimpse our innermost Self. I don’t know.

I started to look through those paintings that I could move without causing the stack to shift or fall. Red and green and gold. The deepest indigo. A pale pink that reminded me of a lotus bud garland that I’d seen in an old temple, and again, at a wedding. I felt both dazzled and overwhelmed, and a desperately-needed respite. Which is when I noticed this one painting that stood a little apart from the stacks. It was a small painting (probably 10x12 or a little bigger), in jewel-bright primary colors. It depicted a woman seated on a wide chair. As I drew closer, and I probably imagined it, I felt some energy, like a force field, pushing me away. It was almost as though the woman got off the chair, walked to the glass, wagged her finger and said No before walking back and resuming her pose. I’m almost sure I imagined the entire thing, but nevertheless, I stepped back. Don’t buy, the painting seemed to say.

As I walked back to the car, I wondered if the painting was waiting for someone else.

If you’re familiar with my writing, you probably know that I am deeply curious about so-called inanimate objects like paintings and whether they have a will, a journey, and a life trajectory of their own. I’ve written about another experience I’ve had with a painting that came home with me. Both these experiences happened at a difficult time in my life and it’s entirely possible that I was just projecting, imagining, etc. But, it was so real, an unexplained, intuitive feeling that I felt in my body, and it still makes me wonder.

I’d love to hear from you. What do you think? Do you give credence to gut feelings and hunches? How do they inform your decisions? I’d love to hear stories of your experience.

Best,

Priya

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