bringing forth

I miss acting! I truly truly do!!
The desire to get involved in a production arises every once in a while, and now's one of those whiles.
I get a thrill of standing in front of an audience, hopefully holding them captive, and stirring them up in ways quite beyond my control.
There is something alluring and provocative in drama which none of the other performing arts can, and dares to, challenge.
The lift of an eyebrow, the inflection of the voice, a jerk of the finger, the tilt of a shoulder -

Theatre theatre theatre, wherefore art thou? I long to have you in my life once more, just as we were partners in years past...

Reading the writings of Ambroise Vollard (a picture dealer for the Impressionists, Post-Impressionists), I come to realise how those who patronise the arts can be so unintentionally hilarious. And dense?

"There is also the amateur who likes a picture because of its title, even if the title has nothing to do with the subject; an example of which is afforded from high quarters... While on the subject of titles, I might recount the extraordinary avatars undergone by a picture of Cezanne's.
I was holding an exhibition of this painter's work, including a picture of a shepherd and some naked women in a landscape. By mistake, the picture happened to be in a frame from which I had forgotten to remove the label, and this read: Diana and Actaeon. In the Press notices, the picture was described as though it had really been meant for a Diana bathing. One art critic praised the noble attitude of the goddess and the modest air of the virgins surrounding her. He particularly admired the gesture of the attendant nymph at the entrance to the glade, who with her uplifted arm bade the intruder begone.
Some time afterwards I was asked to lend Cezanne's picture of the Temptation of St. Anthony to an exhibition. I had promised the painting, but could not send it, as it had been sold in the meantime. In its place I sent the pseudo Diana and Acteon, after removing the unfortunate label from the frame. But as the Temptation was expected, no one thought of rectifying the title in the catalogue, and on the strength of the printed word an influential art review described the picture as a Temptation of St. Anthony. Where others had seen the noble attitude of a goddess, the art critic now discovered the bewitching yet perfidious smile of the daughter of Satan. Actaeon became a pathetic St. Anthony. The repelling gesture of the outstretched arm changed to a seductive invitation... On the last day of the exhibition the collector who had refused the picture when it was called Diana and Actaeon came to see me. He had in his hand a copy of the review in which the glowing article had appeared. "I've just bought that Temptation," he said. "Its realism is admirable."
When I asked Cezanne what the subject of its picture really was:
"It has no subject. I was merely trying to render certain movements."

Art history research can be so good, partly due to such moments, which fortunately appear rather often.

I could see them at the table just ahead. A cozy spot fit for four - the men on one side, the one facing them on the other. Two elderly couples seated in a seafood restaurant that has been elaborately and astutely designed with everything nautical/marine/piratey.
There were anchors, a fake fireplace, crabs, fishes, pirates, floats etc. The products of a creative imagination. It was little wonder the place was packed. We all love seeing fantasy be realised by those with the time, vision and money to do so.
But back to the main story.
The miraculous even came after dinner and a spot of phototaking. Thanks to Deborah who remarked upon observing the four good friends, "I would love to do that when I grow old." I looked ahead and was warmed by the sight.
They sat, huddled over the table, faces pressing close to the center, their hands linked to form a tight circle. They were deep in prayer. It was not a prayer to give thanks for the food - the tummies have already been filled. I could only guess what they were praying about.
A celebration of friendship and the beauty of sharing life together, not just over one meal but many meals and the communion within. I was touched by the power of the scene in front of me.
I told Xinyan: I want to share such a moment with you forty, fifty years down life's winding road. To commemorate all the times we have shared our walk with our Lord Jesus Christ.