The Empty Wall
A lesson in vision
She stared at that empty wall.
It had been three months now. It was, sadly, not even that interesting. She did not stare at it because she liked the view. It frustrated her. It remained empty, unadorned; nude if you will.
She had perfected the rest of the room. It reflected her. Her personality, her whims, in some corners even her desires. In darker corners beckoned her naughty side, as she called it. Stepping into this room was very much like stepping into her mind, or rather, her personality.
Except for this wall. It remained nude, in need of dressing.
She is not sure when or why exactly the idea of the wall being nude slipped into her mind. But that was, she decided, what it was, a naked wall, comfortable with itself just being, yet silently out of context with the vision of her room.
The problem was, she had never really had a vision for this wall; it had started out vague, described as the amazing focal point for lack of more detail. Originally she was going to dress this wall up first, it was to be the jewel of the room with everything else supporting its vision. Like finding the gemstone before designing the setting.
Unexpectedly she began finding ideal reflections of herself, tiny supporting character items, while she searched for her ultimate cornerstone expression.
It’s not that she had not tried, experimented would be the right word, though all efforts ending poorly. There were paintings, some draping’s, a tapestry that shifted everything medievally on her. She went so far as placing pedestals anchored to the wall for small sculptures. Nothing so far had expressed her or even the wall, let alone spoke for the room.
This naked wall, her nude wall, was taking on its own personality just being unadorned like that. Yet it seemed to beg for something.
The “What” eluded her.
That all changed when her dearest friend offered her this spectacular painting to try on the wall. She was surprised her friend was giving it up, she had cherished it; sadly it too became another failed attempt.
But she was intrigued about why her friend had given it up, what could have replaced it? When asked her friend had replied cryptically, it had been replaced by herself. She had become the art.
When she saw it she knew. A vision began to breath life from a neglected corner of her mind. It didn’t have shape or color yet, it lacked form; not unexpectedly it . . . scared her. Made her pause.
It would have to be bold, as bold as her friends, perhaps bolder. Go big or go home popped into her head; it was her motto of sorts.
This time, though, it could be go big then bring it home. She smiled; it was still scary, how scary surprised her. Could she dare do it?
She sat looking at her wall, considering, her eyes roamed the room; yes it was perfect, just perfect. It would need to be timeless; she would have to expose her heart and more to get it.
She followed the path her friend had taken, hers would be different, this creation, they always were her friend explained, because each woman’s vision was different. It was where light and form created beauty. Her friend compared it to the womb, a bit much she thought, but it was a warm safe place, those feelings comforted her.
Suddenly, she was there, on the edge of doing it. The very moment she would step into her vision or retreat forever. She was so far from her wall, her room . . . her box . . . she suddenly thought. She had stepped outside of her box. What a rush that realization was. She just grinned at it.
She stepped over her imaginary threshold, the soft comforting rob slipped off her shoulders with an encouraged wiggle. It felt soft racing down her back. She liked the symbolism of stepping out of it, leaving it behind on the floor.
She was bold, bolder than she thought she had the nerve to be. Her fears evaporated. With her body, her changing attitude, she expressed so many things. She had never felt so comfortable in her own skin, only in her skin.
Later, as she contemplated them, the choice seemed to be like picking a favorite pet for a trip. Hard leaving the others behind.
One was the boldest, the most expressive; the jewel to the setting her room had become.
She usually didn’t do things with fanfare and flare. But, she felt, the wall needed it.
The art she had become was draped in satin; her most intimate friends circled it, waiting for the revelation.
She stood where she had often stood, content this time, she nodded. Her friend nodded back, tugging lightly on a string. The shiny stain writhed free, sliding over then off the wall’s adornment. Like, she thought, her own robe had slipped off her body.
As she looked at the perfect art on her wall, she was amused by the irony. She had dressed her naked wall with a nude of herself.
It was the perfect jewel for her room.
Do you have a wall begging to be a jewel? We can solve that with you, give us a call to explore the possibilities.