Author: Kris Evans

I have always loved to teach. I have always loved school. If I could I would be enrolled in some sort of class full time. Something about a college campus makes me light up. The decorum is not necessarily fancy. Buildings of classrooms with desks. Some colleges are more elaborate than others but they seemed to be built to keep your eye on the ball.

A library is like church for me. The hushed tones of pages turning is quickly disappearing with the age of computers. But in a library there are still physical books and magazines that have a distinctive rustle. I don’t know why but I just feel safe from the outside world. I can travel to my location anywhere through those books.

Many lifelong friends and futures are built behind the walls of those classrooms and libraries. I was fortunate enough to teach university and loved every minute of it. It enabled me to constantly explore and learn to be able to be as crisp as possible for my students. And I acquired life long friends that I have seen blossom into amazing artists.

But I have to say that life has been my strongest teacher. In my youth I didn’t always heed the lessons that were being taught to me but thank goodness somehow the knowledge was stored in the back of my brain. Miraculously, out of nowhere, it still appears and saves the day. Even now, years later, I will question something and having no idea when or where I learned it, the information will come at just the right time.

My son has been an inspiration to me in my life. Who ever knows that you are doing the right thing when you are raising your child. I only have one child so I get one chance to try to do the best I can. Here I am floundering through my own life so don’t always make the best decisions for my son but I have always held him tightly in my heart and have done the best I know how. Most certainly can’t write books about child physiology but this I know. I have raised a young man who has taught me patience, kindness and dignity. He has had some rough patches along the way as we all have in our lives but he has definitely turned out the better for it.

So when I listen to him play jazz on his guitar I know regardless of how difficult his road will be he is following his passion and his heart. It’s life, his life, and when all is said and done, the journey is the best teacher.

The are many different meanings to the word senses but according to the Oxford dictionary when used as a noun it is a faculty by which the body perceives an external stimulus.  The second meaning is a feeling that something is the case.  But when looking at synonyms the same words are used: sensation, feeling, and awareness.  The first is meant to include the five senses; sight, smell, hearing, taste and touch.  Those five words in itself are amazingly powerful. And the second is to have a sense of something or someone.

Take for example the sense of smell and what that does to the pysche.  Anytime I smell pine I think of the forest or Christmas.  Immediately.  No second guessing.  Certain smells bring me back to my mom in the kitchen cooking her Italian fare for the holidays.  The aroma of flowers, too many to even begin to mention.  My favorites are Jasmine, Lilacs and Peonies.  Jasmine because of Los Angeles in the spring and Lilacs and Peonies because of spring in Cincinnati.  Two different springs and two different memories.  It also gives me a sense of being aware of my surroundings and how beautiful they are at that moment.

The gift of hearing is one I never want to take advantage of for so many reasons.  To hear a baby’s first cry as they come into the world or to hear a beautiful piece of music is something that changes you forever.  What comes to mind is when a person who has never had this gift finally receives it by having an implant.  The look on their face when the first sense of hearing becomes apparent softens even the coldest heart. And the sense of gratitude the loved one receives when they know that their voice is finally heard.

As a make-up artist I can’t even begin to express how vital my gift of sight is to me.  My father was an artist and was pronounced legally blind when he was just 52.  He was a master of color and the inability to do what he loved broke his spirit.  But he found peace later in life and was determined to continue to read.  At times he read five books a week.  I once told him I was going to the library and wanted to know if he wanted me to pick him up  a book.  He loved mysteries so I asked anyone in particular.  He told me to start at the letter M.  He had read every mystery novel up to then.  His own personal visual was the images that he was able to experience in the written word. And my vision of him holding a book up to his nose to be able to read through his thick glasses taught me that if you are determined enough anything is possible.

I remember being in Paris at the famous Laduree cafe and tasting what has to be one of the most magnificent desserts in life.
Ah, Rose and Raspberry Saint Honore has to be one of the highlights of taste.  The piece de resistance is the delicate rose flavored whipped cream that caresses the ladyfingers and raspberries.  We had just finished ours and were watching the reaction of the woman sitting at the table next to us as she took her first bite.  She let out a sigh that expressed how we felt.  She looked over at us and we all smiled in blissful agreement.  All of the senses seemed to be working in overload just from one dessert.  Our connection with each other was universal.

The sense of awareness, sensation, recognition and consciousness is something I never want to lose.  I can’t imagine what life would be like without the sense of feelings and wonder.

It never ceases to amaze me how many people have so much talent.  Whenever I listen to beautiful singers and musicians or watch graceful dancers or look at painters, sculptors, architects or designers, I am enthralled by how they even have the ability to know they have such talent.  I know that some of it is learned but I believe a lot of it is God given talent.  They have to do their art.  They don’t choose it.  It chooses them. It consumes them.  It embodies them.

I am the person in the museum or at the concert hall in tears overwhelmed by the beauty.  I am not embarrassed or ashamed and don’t make any excuses for my excess.  I only wish I could be that prolific.  I consider myself somewhat knowledgeable in my craft and I have developed a sense of artistry from the years of practice.  But this is something else.  This is beyond knowledge.  This is magic.

And it’s not only that they are talented but they have the power to fight through the fear of failure and just go for it.  The letters of Van Gogh to his brother Theo are heartbreaking.  Van Gogh suffered and in his madness lies his genius but the depth of his emotion and commitment to his craft is astounding.  He never made a dime but the richness he has given millions is priceless.  I only wish I could tell him in person how he changed my way of looking at color.

Or Billie Holiday who was riddled with drug addiction but literally cried when she sang.  Not with tears but with emotion.  She makes me cry not only because I am sad for her but because she is able to bring up emotion in me that I didn’t even know existed.  On the other hand, Ella Fitzgerald makes me smile at how effortlessly she can scat and play with her lyrics.  Her Summertime is one of my favorites.  But that same song can take on a different meaning when Kathleen Battle sings it.  It’s not just her miraculous voice that consumes me but the sheer passion she sings with that makes this lullaby take on an eerie tone.  Totally different than Ella but no more spectacular.

I was working in Metaline Falls, Washington and was driving to work one morning listening to Leslie Garret singing Dome Epais.  The music itself was so beautiful but the scenery through the mist of the early morning hour made it even more so.  I turned a corner and there in the middle of the road was a huge male deer with full antlers, his majestic head  thrown back as if to let out a cry.  Steam came out of his nostrils and his stance was powerful and strong.  All of a sudden a female deer and her baby came up from the forest and ran across the road.  It was clear he was there to guard the crossing of his family.  When the mother and baby were safely across, he was gone in an instant into the forest.  With the music playing and the vision of such bravery from this deer I just started to sob.  It was overwhelming.  And now, every time I listen to her sing that song I am back in Metaline Falls, Washington and experiencing that moment all over again.

Her beautiful voice and talent was enhanced by the beauty and talent of nature that is also God given. How grateful am I to be aware and not ashamed of my emotions with so much in this world that is worth celebrating.  I guess my childlike wonder and fascination with anything that is enveloped in passion is a talent that has been given to me without practice or knowledge.