Twila’s Reviews > Theo of Golden > Status Update

The little boy discern a pattern in the artist work: observed sky, observed canvas, brushed a pallet, mixed color, brushed to canvas, stroke, dab, or blend. Again and again and again.

I saw a boy in that smile it’s a face that hasn’t forgotten playfulness. I think children would be drawn to this face, but I also see a man there’s wisdom here in the eyes, a young, tender heart, a wise old soul that’s a good combination, wisdom and playfulness this could well be a portrait of Saint Basil.

The older I get, the more convinced I am that every hurt the world has ever known is somehow the fault of every person who ever lived. Maybe not directly and never entirely, but somehow, I fear, we own all of the world's hurts together.

"I've had the Noble Invention for ten years. Every day for ten years, we've been together. That's longer than a lot of marriages.
Everything I own is on my bike. Travel light. Like Mother Teresa.
Did you see ET? He rode his bike all the way to heaven. That's what I plan to do. Are you somebody important?"

There was and would be much to ponder. Much to cherish. Much to lament.

Unmet expectations have a clever way of showing up at every stage of life

It's as if you make it possible to look not merely at the face but through the face, to the heart of the person. To the possibility of the person.

How is it, that a piece of paper — a letter, a photo, a ticket stub, a sketch, a painting — is suddenly transformed by placing it in a frame? What does it mean that we place permanent boundaries around transient moments? What does it say of humankind that we take such trouble to freeze specific memories, that we devote such energy to capturing and preserving the "minute par-ticulars" of our lives?

Theo's year in Golden allowed him to watch that tree through a full cycle of seasons: tiny springtime buds becoming oblong, hand-sized leaves; light greens becoming deep green becoming scarlet and gold; pearl-sized cups becoming thumb-sized acorns; shade-making limbs blown bare by frigid winds.

Stillness came hard for her another byproduct of being raised to value, efficiency and achievement as supreme virtues, but she seemed at rest, childlike and unhurried, even as the promenade visit itself around her