Listen to the Sounds

Spirit Visions ©Mary Montague Sikes

“Listen to the sounds of birds and flowers.”

A few years ago, when I was planning my program presentation for the World Healers Conference in San Diego, California, those words came to me in a meditation. During that conference, I gave a demonstration of how I create meditation paintings for people who request them. Those words helped me plan my part of the event.

Words often have meaning beyond the obvious, so sometimes we need to stop and think hard before we speak or write. That is especially true for me when I am painting or creating intuitively.

“Listen to the sounds of birds and flowers.”

If you live in the woods, like I do, you hear the birds a lot, especially in the early evening. Do we pay attention to their chirping or agitated cries? If we listen closely, perhaps we would learn to understand what they are saying. Some people, especially birdwatchers, study the sounds of the birds and have learned a lot doing so. It is interesting to read that birds learn songs from their parents, usually the father. Often bird calls are designed to claim their territory.

Flowers make sounds, too. Some plants emit high-pitched cries when their branches are cut, or so I have read. I haven't heard a flower or plant cry out, but I believe they do, in a pitch too high for us to perceive. 

"Spirit Visions", my watercolor painting on canvas, is the cover art for my book, Spirit Visions Soul Songs. I've included it here because I think of the sounds of birds and flowers when I look at it. 

Study the painting and perhaps you will hear them, too.

 

Importance of Childhood

Walkway at Mary Washington

When I was a young child, I had no idea how important childhood would be for the rest of my life. I just wanted to hurry through it, so I could be in control. Now, I am grateful for the religious background my mother gave to me. I am glad she put me on the church cradle role. I appreciate the big words that she used with me when I was a toddler and that she took me with her everywhere. That background has enriched my career as a writer.

Growing up in an historic city was an advantage, I think. There were museums and antique buildings everywhere. At the time, I didn’t appreciate playing on the grounds of Kenmore, but being there and listening to the guides describe the ceilings and the walls of the old mansion and tell about its history was an amazing gift. I lingered in the separate building that served as the colonial kitchen and watched the maids make gingerbread.

 We lived for a few years in a house just below Sunken Road. That historic road was where a terrible battle was fought during the Civil War and thousands of lives were lost, mostly those of Union soldiers. When walking along that black tar-surfaced street, you struggled with a heavy heart in the darkness left by those bloody times. Somehow, I mostly avoided playing near that street.

 Even the floors of the school I attended, located on the banks of the Rappahannock River, possessed dark memories of tragic times. Used as a hospital during the war, the blood stains were still there, embedded in the wooden floors of the elementary school classrooms. It was a dingy old building, located 12 blocks from my home—a long walk for a young child.

 Living just beyond the entrance gate to Mary Washington College had its advantages. Many of the college professors were our neighbors, and most of my friends were their children. I loved spending my days playing in their yards and learning from them. A music professor lived nearby, and I remember watching, through an open door, college students practicing on the beautiful golden concert harp he had in his home.

My uncle owned the horse stables used by the college. Sometimes when I visited my cousin, we would walk to the stables and watch the handsome thoroughbreds train.

 In late childhood, when my family moved away from the city to a small town, located on three rivers, it was difficult for me. I missed my friends, the horses, and all the historic places. For a long time, I corresponded weekly with my best friend, the daughter of a chemistry professor at the college.

 Mine was the tale of two childhoods—one very different from the other.

 

The End of an Era

Sometime in the mid-1990s, Gail and Baylor Nichols arrived in our little town. I'm not very good remembering dates, but I do recall the sensation of change. And it was change they brought. An unique energy surrounded them, and there was always lots of art. Art everywhere.

Inside our little town, Gail and Baylor created an artists colony. Over the years, their home became the center for many meetings that brought together artists from all over the region, including New Kent, King William, King and Queen, Lancaster counties, the cities of Richmond, Williamsburg, and more. It was an exciting time. Color abounded, and energy glowed in and around their home.

Arts Alive was born and, often with a push from Gail and Baylor, the visual arts program grew. Our little town vibrated with excitement, especially on the day each month when a workshop brought special focus to the arts.

At first, those workshops, many of which were presentations sponsored by the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts, were held at the West Point Branch Library. Later, most took place at the local YMCA. All were well-attended, and regional artists became friends.

It was a sad time for the artists and the town when Baylor suffered a short illness and died. Her heart heavy, Gail continued their artist mission, created shows of his work and more.

When a club in our little town held its 2019 Christmas dinner in Gail's art-filled home, I had no idea it would be our last meeting there. Their house was a center for the arts for many years. The artistic camaraderie there all through the years will be missed. 

 

Gail has moved to Florida to be closer to her children, and we are left with memories. We remember Baylor standing on a ladder, patiently hanging art works outside the auditorium at the Art Center. We think of Gail, fluttering about like a cheerful butterfly, keeping everything from show hangings to art workshops organized and moving. 

 

So many memories. It's hard to witness the end of an era. Thank you, Gail Nichols for the many memories and for beginning our little Art Colony.