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It’s exactly one week before our 36th wedding anniversary, so love is on my mind (Love of one kind or another is always on my mind).
“Dear as His eye”:
God’s eye, my eye, an artist’s eye? When I was a child, I wondered what blind people saw; as an adult, I posited that a blind eye would see what a hand or foot would “see” with no working optic nerve to process visual information– it is blind to the visual, but perceives what is before it with other senses. I can’t imagine what a life without visual input would feel like. I’m a visual artist; my best skill of all my skills is pattern recognition; what in the material world could be dearer to me than my own eye? I’d be lost (in every way) without it.
I fell in love with my husband at first sight. It took him a bit longer, but within hours of our meeting for the very first time in the sculpture garden at MOMA on August 5, 1972, I knew I would marry him someday. Sight/my eye/His-his eye is really KEY to our relationship. We were both at MOMA that day to see art in a beautiful place on a beautiful summer day. We got to know each other by leading each other to our favorite paintings. He first approached me because he couldn’t look away from the color of my thigh-length straight hair spread across my back while I was crouched, drawing the Gaston Lachaise sculpture of a massive Amazon. He said my hair was the color of walnut wood, with red and gold in it, and against my orange shirt, it glowed and I glowed. I was in pre-love, just waiting for the match to strike. It was no accident that we were both where we were, when we were. We were placed there, making our way to each other across millions and billions of years and stars and lives…
I know what “dear as His eye” means on multiple levels. Dear as His eye=dear as my own life.
True, that.

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