I wanted to paint a portrait of god
so I got my easel and set up a canvas,
squeezed paints on my palette
and stepped back to consider:
how tall is god?
is he as tall as a man,
as tall as a tree, a mountain or the sky?
how wide is god?
is he as wide as me,
is he thin or portly,
is he muscular or smooth?
is he male or female? is she?
what color is god?
is he or she black or brown or white
freckled, mottled or splotched
tanned smooth or frog-belly raw
a face flushed or livid?
how old is god?
is she or he youth or age
timeless, aged or ageless
callow or wise
something in between?
what form is god?
is she formless or rigid
ethereal or solid…
and on and on.
so I decided to paint god as beauty and kindness
as the face of my mother when I was a child
so I decided to paint god as patience and dignity
as the face of my father when I was a child
and all that was pure in my mind
but once I finished I couldn’t help but notice
that the canvas was blank.