When I was in San Antonio, I took this photo of a painting in the hotel.
It is nothing special, a simple bit of hotel décor. It is the kind of thing I could question, in fact once would have questioned. Overly self critical, I would have asked myself why I took the photo, and I probably would have deleted shortly after returning home, telling myself that the subject matter was not worth saving.
But I would have been wrong. I took the photo because the colors resonated with me, in fact still resonate with me. I took the photo not because it is great art, but because somewhere in my view of the world it struck a nerve. I took the photo because something in the colors drew me in, because I am always drawn in by color and pattern and texture more than the objects themselves. I took this photo because I intentionally walked down a particular hallway every day, just because I needed to see these colors again and again. Looking at this photo now, the colors still draw me in, still lead my perceptions in directions they might otherwise not have taken.
Here then is my question. Why do we undervalue our own perceptions and our own visions? Why do we let the world tell us what is important and valuable rather than trusting our own judgment? Why do we let others tell us what is beautiful and what will make life worth living, when, deep in our hearts, we already know the answer?
