I’m fascinated by the word, the meaning, the space of gray. gray, gray, gris, somewhere between black and white, anywhere between black and white. Black and white are not colors although we consistently call them so, link them with colors because colors are what are effected by black and white.

Our ability to see colors is effected by light – white, and the absence of light – black. White lightens colors making tints. Black darkens colors making shades. Still neither black nor white appear in the rainbow – the spectrum of colors. Mixing black and white together in any amounts will create some form of gray, whether it is a lighter tint or darker shade. Pure black and pure white are pure contrast – opposites in a way. And gray is all of the space in between.

It is like this with ideas and theories. There are the extremes and then there is everything else in between. One might suggest that the human race is made up of two sexes – male and female. If these are opposites, extremes, then what is it that lies between them? How do we identify a 100% male or a 100% female? And how do we define, explain, categorize those among us who are in between the two? If you go to any large fair and look at all the different poultry – there are all kinds of chickens and roosters, yet they all resemble one another – and there are very tight parameters in which they all fit categorically. Some are a little smaller than others, have different colored feathers placed differently on their bodies, but they are all poultry.

Same with dogs – oh there are extremes here – in type of coat, shape of head and body, and of course size. A Chihuahua vs. a Great Dane for example, yet again, they are all categorically, undeniably dogs. And then we have people. I once saw a picture of Wilt Chamberlain standing next to a famous horse jockey and the image remains with me yet. It was striking in the contrast of the sizes, shapes, bone structure, color, weight, and height of these two men. It was something to marvel at.

In passing through puberty and trying to figure out just where I fit into the whole scheme of things, I remember thinking of stereotypical icons of man and woman trying to define myself somewhere in the gray space between the burly, muscular, weight lifting, gruff image I held of a true male and the petite, high heeled sequin slippered, feather negligeed, high pitch voiced image I thought was true female.

I wonder now at where these ideas came from and I would have to guess the media because the reality of my world was that my dad is a soft spoken retired English teacher/ librarian, sophisticated with a sense of humor, and slow to react. My mom is everything. She cooks, cleans, runs the house, she types, makes bread, makes the bed, does the laundry, is the penultimate “gopher” and often is tending to the needs of others before they are even aware of them. She worked as a secretary of and on throughout her life and hasn’t slowed down any in retirement. She is a strong woman who would never faint at the sight of blood, nor be seen in high heeled sequined slippers. She’s practical and smart and not one to follow fads, but more her mind, heart, and spirit.

So… these extreme ideas of mine are really caricatures. However, I think that if you placed the man version at the end of the line and the woman at the far other end, then bent the line to form a circle – you would recognize as I have the irony of those two extremes being closer related than one would guess at first glance. And the rest of the circle would hold the remainder of us and each would fit comfortably along a piece of that arc somewhere.

I’ve know men that can only be described as effeminate, or at the very least – at ease with their feminine side… and women who can wear the pants better than some men. I’ve known women who tower over, out power, and could dominate some men, and men who can knit, sew, cook, bake, keep a cleaner house, and nurture better than some women.

I’m 45. I’m still trying to figure out where I fit in the whole scheme of things. I took time out to have children, or perhaps I took the path through having children to work at figuring that out. I still don’t know. I’ve gone to school; I’ve created music, art, two human beings, and more art. I’ve cooked, cleaned, baked, sewn, nurtured, healed, mowed lawn, baled hay, refinished furniture, wall papered, assisted the birthing of calves and lambs, cut hair, bandaged wounds, sheared sheep, painted, learned how to drive and to use a computer. I’ve earned college degrees, and I’ve bought a house. Yet, I’m still for the most part am still trying to figure out my place, my purpose.

I am a teacher. I teach children what I know about art, how to create it using different techniques, what the tools are, how they are used, where they come from and hopefully they take something from me along with them that will be helpful in their own journeys.

Along my own developmental journey – I remember being taught right from wrong, good from bad, and had a very concrete idea of the black and white of the two. There was no gray in between, just open airy space. Kind of like a child’s drawing where the sky is a thin band of blue along the top of the page and the ground is an equally thin line of green along the bottom on which perhaps a house stands and a tree grows, but the area in the middle is clean and clear.

The areas of sky and ground are clearly delineated. After all, we have to look up to see the vast expanse of blue and down to see the fields of green and around us is clear air. Later we learn about horizon lines and how the sky does indeed meet the ground at some distant vanishing point.

It used to bug me when an issue came up that wasn’t clearly black or white – that is to say good or bad, right or wrong. I had to struggle with the categorization of it until I was comfortable enough to let it rest. Divorces were still a rarity and little talked about and I didn’t know too many people who had had anything really bad happen to them.

Small unfortunate things, things the adults around me modeled to take in stride, and so I learned to do the same. But nothing earth shattering or ground shaking, or life changing. Then a few deaths here and there, an accident or two that harmed people I knew or at least had heard of, and the imminent divorce from the people you really weren’t surprised to learn about and the people you’d have never imagined weren’t getting along just fine.

Things that would start to nudge at your ideals, your sense of right and wrong and struggling with the black and white stirred it all up and things got gray. They got gray really fast and the band of gray between the black and the white got bigger and wider and longer and the strips of pure black and pure white got thinner and narrower.

Like a growing pool, there was nothing left to do but fall or jump willingly into the gray and swim around a bit in a “if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em” fashion. You swim around in the gray until you figure out what shades of gray you’re comfortable with, what’s acceptable in the in-between space. Then you climb out and stand on the edge realizing for all the submersion, you still have some sense of the pure black and white. You still have some morals left, something that outlines your gray. But the discovery of who you are is somewhere in there, somewhere in the swimming around and re-emerging.

I used to have a clear idea of who I was, what I liked, what was acceptable, what wasn’t. Then things got muddy and gray and much less clear. I’m finding myself at a place where I am starting to admit, or accept what I like and dislike, claim what is acceptable and unacceptable, and my idea of who I am feels like it is beginning to emerge, but from a new place and into a world of brilliant color, terrific light and wonderful dark shadows that help set off the contrasts of everything in sight.