It's Alive, Can Fly And Have Babies, A Sunday Morning Sermon

Artists, especially those that take themselves and their work seriously, must regularly immerse themselves in the solitude of the wild.  To observe the earth and sky, the elements as they are attuned to each other, the intricate and perfectly beautiful miracles of the natural order. This forces the artist to consider every aspect of their studio practice as a novice observing a master.  Case in point.  Yesterday as I was sitting beside The Tennessee a small butterfly lit upon my shirt pocket.  It was no larger than my thumbnail, a deep golden bronze.  There was the tiniest disk, black and vertical protruding out is mouth.  Odd I thought as I looked at it.  All of a sudden the disk became like the tiniest intricate spring coiled perfectly around, equally spaced between each curl of the like that no watch maker could have made.  Then with silent grace the butterfly uncurled the spring in an arching loop twice the length of its body and began to taste my shirt with what I now knew as its unbelievably living and purposeful tongue.  And just as sincerely it coiled it up and slid it back inside its tiny head.  I thought, “How could anyone not believe in God!” because in my greatest studio attempt I could not make that and add to that, oh it was alive, could fly and by the way lets have it make babies as well.   Thus the reason for the LAW I stated first.