You do not know what you are missing

So this is it: the moment I commit to words my attempt to reveal something I consider special. Please don't get me wrong, it is not my art. It is someone else's. In fact they do not even know I am writing about them or their art. And it will not be easy, this journey. But I know it is important. Because it is important for me and the artist. It is what binds us together. This is what it is like, I am beginning to learn, being the husband or wife or partner of the artist. We watch from the sidelines and feel all the anguish. We feel the blows of perceived failure as if delivered to our very selves. And yet we must remain positive. We of all people. We, the friends of the artist. When lucky enough to find it we must defend the greatness from the insecurity. So, dear reader, there I suppose we have it. Some of the work I will show you one fine day is done, but much of it still being done. On the artist's behalf I am only warming you up. She is sleeping right now, the artist, her head deep into the pillow. As the room grows quiet, I peer through the dim lighting at the wall and see it. There. Her work. Intricate. True. Brave. You do not know what you are missing.