Hey guys, welcome again to the TeamWork Series. This particular piece excites me because of the backstory. I really do hope you find some inspiration through it.
Backstory: When Boo of life worked offshore on the Foinaven field, the FPSO had an art room (yeah, and a music room and a gym and a . . . whatever! I’m so not jealous, at all). In his free time, after spending some in the music room with the bass guitar, he would head off to the art room to splash some colour on canvas. In that art room, there was a particular canvas that everyone sort of pasted their excess paint on or cleaned off their brushes on. It was the ‘trash-can’ canvas, and he joined in making it so, cleaning his brush on it every now and then while working on a painting. But on a particular day, he looked closely at the canvas and saw what others hadn’t seen . . . the possibility of becoming a masterpiece!
So he took up the challenge, and I share it with you, accompanied by what it inspired me to write.
Ugly duckling. That’s what they called you. The black sheep in the fold. Beautiful wasn’t a word you’d use to describe you, and when others did, they certainly skipped it too. You’ve worked so hard to get the little and still the little is denied you. You’re centre of attention when there’s no audience and your voice is only cheered by the corners of your bathroom tiles. You have hair in the right places and hair everywhere else, so you hide your face when you’ve had a bad hair day, the day you ran out of razors and a blade.
You try your best to prove your worth, but you try and try and your best is not good enough. For every idea you put on the table, five other ideas are stacked right above yours and the table is burned to the ground. Your transparent façade is easy to walk past even with the coffee stain on your shirt. That lipstick mark would probably have had some attention if you had someone interested in how it got there, so you ignore her as she rudely walks away and thank providence for your first human contact at the end of the day.
You feel neglected; you are alone. You feel used; you are spinning out of control. And as you read this, you shake your head and let out a sigh from holding your breath . . . or you hold it in a little longer wishing it would just stop, and you would disappear.
SO. STOP. AND. BREATHE.
Only a master can see a masterpiece in what others might label trash. Only the one patient enough to dig through the rubble would find the diamond in the rough. It’s flat packed and useless in it’s packaging, but the right tools, skill and time will assemble the product if one is willing to follow the instructions . . . but they don’t have your instructions, so they fumble, and call you ugly, and useless and unlovable and good for nothing . . .
. . . if only they had your instructions and followed it, they would know that you are BEAUTIFUL and USEFUL. They would know that you are LOVABLE and you are LOVED. They would know that you are TALENTED and SKILFUL. They would know YOU HAVE A LOT TO OFFER. But they fumble, so they don’t know that you are BRILLIANT and GIFTED. They don’t know that you are WONDERFULLY CREATED and EXCEPTIONALLY CRAFTED. They cannot know because they don’t see far and they don’t look deep; they judge the cover before they read the contents, and their judgement of the cover starts and ends at the spine of your book when they walk past so they really don’t see much. They don’t see that you are AMAZING and AMUSING; they don’t see your CHARM and your GLORY. So they fumble with you . . . like they fumbled with me, and thought I was good for nothing, till I became something they now wish they could be.
So smile, you’re a MASTERPIECE, the Master sees YOU and He says so!
Hey, you, smile, like Mrs. Foinaven. Smile!
So Boo of life, out of the trashed canvas, brought Mrs. Foinaven to life. The canvas that was a mess became a masterpiece, and the people who once walked past it, now stopped to look at it. It has a home, although we don’t know where; before Boo had the chance to retrieve it, it was gone. So if you come across her anywhere, tell someone her story . . . or call the police 😂😂😂😂