When I was about 16, I wanted a Led Zeppelin tattoo. I couldn’t imagine anything more perfect than to have the four symbols of the four men I worshiped most in a line on my left forearm. I listened to “Physical Graffiti” like it was going to restore my soul back to itself and I was finally finding my way home. It was truly THAT important. Sigh. I am so glad I chose not to make those particular marks on my arms, because now I don’t quench my thirst in the same way. But I still carry that association with me because it made its mark somewhere. I saw the desired tattoo on the back of a car recently and wondered if the driver had wanted it on their body too, but just settled for the Pathfinder.

I have since learned that my allegiance to something can be marked many ways, and certainly not always in permanence or staying power. Sometimes in order for something to survive it must be let go in a way so it can breathe and live on in the only ways it can: through memory.

A couple of weeks ago Matt and I went to the Cherry Creek Art Festival and had the best time walking around and visiting each art booth. I was thrilled to notice we were sucked into the same booths and hypnotized by the same worlds. It was satisfying to learn we were soothed and moved by many of the same pieces. It is always good news to find that your art and your imaginative inner spaces are not combative with your partner’s.

We found our […]