These are two more little pieces for Raleigh’s Handmade Hanukkah market. They are tiny 2″ x 2″ canvases painted with acrylics and set on a tiny easel. The reason for posting however is because the memories stirred up while I was painting make me want to tell a story.

When I was in the 5th grade, over half a century ago, we spent one Fall school semester staying with relatives, including my Aunt Clara, in Canton, Ohio. That is when I was introduced to painting. She made little dioramas inside eggshells with tiny figures, plants and other miniature decorations and painted scenery. My sisters still have some of her pieces that were created decades ago. She painted the outside of the eggshells (these were eggs that had been emptied and cleaned out, with an oval window cut in to see the dioramas), put decorative lace, ribbons, and jewels around the edges of the cuts, and glued a small stand, often just a fancy curtain ring, to the bottom.

I helped her with painting some and, once we returned to Huntington, WV, I was encouraged by another aunt to begin taking art lessons. Even after my family moved to Nashville, Tennessee, art lessons continued from a well-known local artist, Juanita Parks.

For reasons I won’t go into, the time spent in Canton was not a good time for my younger sister and me, but as partial explanation I will say that we felt isolated, unappreciated, and as though we were a burden to these relatives.

So back to the menorah paintings. They were done really quickly with a small brush, but while I was painting them, I just kept flashing back to being with my Aunt Clara and my tentative first efforts with a small paint brush. Sitting with her and helping create was my escape from the dismal time – something to engage in that took me away from unpleasant circumstances. She was a bright light in an otherwise dark time. Also a thought as I was painting, it’s no coincidence that Hanukkah is the Festival of Lights, bringing light into a dark world.

I’m not sure there is a life lesson there for everyone, but then again, maybe there is.

My sister and I definitely think of that stay in Canton as an unpleasant time in our past, but I have that stay to thank for my lifelong interest in art. It is even likely that the discouraging times made the joy of painting that much more enjoyable for an impressionable young boy seeking escape.

We should always remember this: when we struggle in life, it is possible, if we let it, for there to be a great good that comes out of the struggle. This may be especially true for creativity and the arts. Would I have taken up art if I had never been in Canton? Maybe, but I wouldn’t bet on it. For that reason, if you ever feel moved to paint, or sing, or play an instrument, or engage in any creative act – don’t put it off! And never discourage your children, friends or loved ones from trying. Give in to your impulse and don’t be too critical of the results. You may find that a creative act will ease you through hard times more gently than anything else.