All the light we cannot see before our eyes we can surely feel and touch.

All the light we cannot see.

 The other day when I was at a small store in a quaint Delaware town perusing the aisles I saw a father who was holding the hand of his blind son.

 The boy was about my daughter’s age and smiling from ear to ear. His dad was gently moving him slowly around picking up ceramics and glass and small metal sculptures made by local artists and craftsman.

 They took their time to feel every piece and the boy described the feel of it. Visually the place was filled with hanging glass in an array of colors. At one point I picked up a kaleidoscope and the merchant told me to look under a light bulb with the scope parallel to the light but not up to the light.

 As I did this and saw the amazing spectrum of colors that moved with my every turn I could hear them in the background enjoying the works of art without the light and without the color and wondered how could I as an artist could show someone who couldn’t see what color was?

 Just like that.

 Just like the father with each piece of art in the boys hand.

 The coldness of the glass.

 The rough texture of the ceramics.

 The smoothness of the metal.

 Patience and holding each piece.

 Smiling and enjoying the space and the time that it took to make it.

 All the light and color we cannot see before our very eyes

 we can surely feel and touch in so many other ways.