Lessons from Isaiah

I met Isaiah twice. Our first meeting occured five days before he died. His friends and social worker had shared a little bit about his life. I came to realize that he was one of those people who fell through the cracks of society and spent the rest of his life fighting his way back up. His mother abandoned his family at three. His father overwhelmed with the responsibility promptly dropped Isaiah and his brothers at the local orphanage and never looked back. He spent most of his life in one institution or another -- ophanages, juvenile detention and prison. After spending 25 years in prison he was ready to move forward with the one thing all his own -- his art. Cancer struck four months later.
My last moment with Isaiah occured the same day I gave him the news that his life long dream was about to come true. I showed him the date for his art show. Together we circled the date on his calender then we talked artist to artist. He showed me more of his sketches. I shared one of my poems with him. At that moment, death and dying took a backseat to living and sharing our mutal creativity. I took his hand and told him that had circumstances been different we would have been good friends. "But we're friends now," he said. I had to agree. My new friend died two days later. When I got the news I mourned his passing even though I had only known him for a few days. Intuitively however, I also know you are supposed to meet people when you are supposed to meet them. For this reason, when I think of Isaiah I think of a quote by William Baziotes. “Each painting has its own way of evolving...When the painting is finished, the subject reveals its’ self.” I was lucky enough to meet Isaiah at the twilight completion of his masterpiece, a life created from the ashes into art. Nevertheless, I have to admit I spent quite a lot of one on one time questioning God. For a moment I wallowed in the unfairness of Isaiah’s life and even got all filled up with self-pity because he wouldn’t be around for the art show we had scheduled. I mean how unfair is it to finally have a life which is your own only to have it cut short by cancer. I was a town crier for a bit. Then I settled. Isaiah knew his art would live beyond him. As I touched his legacy I thought about a story a wise and creative man told me.
There once was a boy who at the age of 10 had most everything stripped away from him. His mother left. His father left. He was alone in the world except for his creativity and imagination. Once the boy was given an assignment by his fourth grade teacher to color and stay in the lines of an image. The boy being independent and a bit stubborn didn’t follow the directions. Instead he flipped the page over and faced with the endless possibilities of a blank white page, began to draw. He was so immersed in his project he didn’t even notice his teacher standing behind him. The boy looked up and was startled. He was convinced he had once again done something really wrong. But instead his wise teacher commented on the lines, beauty and color. “Isaiah,” she said, “someday you will be a famous artist.” The boy never forgot those words. Neither did the man he grew into. Those words kept him company in his darkest hour behind prison bars and he picked up a paintbrush. The moment he touched paint to canvas he started to give birth to himself.
Yes, Isaiah’s life was marked with unfairness but it was also steeped in beauty—a beauty only he could see and that he had the courage to share with us all. I decided his life touched me for two reasons, in the midst of despair a tenacious hope and beauty prevailed. Kahlil Gibrand talks about how your sorrow carves you out for your joy. Isaiah spent a lot of time being carved out, but in the midst of his sorrow Isaiah became a deep cup, one overflowing with color, hope, beauty and the waters of resiliency; one which speaks of the power of creativity and imagination and our ability to push beyond our own bars and borders and evolve. Isaiah’s legacy is his art. The art that helped him survive. The art born at the intersection of sorrow and creativity, the art that now gives us permission to create and visualize as well. If a man behind bars can create and see beauty then how much more can the rest of us do? For this reason, Isaiah’s art lives on as an inspiration to us all to live our lives artistically, realizing the power we have to create every single day not just on a canvas but how we touch one another. We can plant seeds with our words. The fact that we cannot see the fruits of praise and encouragement doesn't diminish the power of the crop.

I also think that survival and art are not mutually exclusive. Life is art. Even behind bars Isaiah chose to live an artistic life, one where he allowed himself to evolve and change as much as the images on his canvas. One where mistakes were integrated instead of discarded or denied. One that unfolded taking each color as it comes, choosing a direction instead of destination. Michele Shea said, “Creativity is seeing something that doesn't exist already. You need to find out how you can bring it into being and that way be a playmate with God.”
Life is Art. Self-expression can be found on canvas, on a page, kind words or compassion. Art is one of the joys of being human and a space to create is essential to celebrating our humanity. It doesn’t matter if you are a woman or a man, a child or an adult. Everyone needs room to breathe life into their imaginations and a space to create their own reality--one that is far removed from the scrutiny of the world, where personal demons can be greeted and tamed, where angels can be entertained and minds can freely swim the waters of contemplation. Because it is here in this safe quiet, we touch divinity and for a moment hold in our palms the power to create and give birth to ourselves.