Doorway to Destiny: The Prophetic Power of Painting

John and I are now headlong into a full-on decorative art career. We are pumping out red roof houses and Tuscan landscapes ripe with poppy flower fields in the most juicy cadmium reds you can imagine. We are deeply immersed into oil painting and building our expressive brushstroke muscles.

Robinson, our Atlanta dealer, is thrilled with us and keeps the orders coming each week. Gary is still selling well, and we keep him stocked with chefs, cafes, wine still lives, and modern stylized landscapes, all in mixed media.

I’m about to give birth to our first child, Dimitra, and I think about how my “lie” to Mallie has actually come true. I told my old boss I was giving two weeks’ notice because we wanted to start a family instead of the real reason. I was actually working with Gary, a local art rep and becoming direct competition with her. But I guess I can't lie, and now we are starting our family.

I feel so blessed and thrilled that both John and I are earning a good living solely off of the sale of our art. I have freedom to take it easy to have a baby. I’m actually running a business, in control of my own time and inventory and amount of sales that I want. I completely know deep inside that the art we are making is “pretty pictures,” as my professors called it, and not “fine art,” but I don't care. I love painting, even if it’s a red poppy field that doesn't mean anything.

The Couch Art Police

All of our old art school friends have disowned us. We have sold out in their eyes, and now that we are having a baby, we are truly living in a different world. They think we have betrayed our dreams and are living as phonies. None of them are happy for us and our success, and they say things like, “How’s the couch art jobs going?” or “Hey, I hear you are working at an art factory now, painting bowls of fruit or something.”

They disapproved of us while staying up late at their bartending jobs or waiting tables. One of our former friends worked as a telemarketer for six bucks an hour. They were too exhausted from their jobs, so they don't paint anymore. To this day, I don't know any of our college art school friends who is actually creating and selling art.

I knew one day if I continued to work hard and learn as much as I could, I could afford the lifestyle to be able to paint anything I liked. I knew I had deeper and more personal art in me, but for now I was growing and my skills were improving each month, and we were selling more art than I ever dreamed, even if we were at the bottom of the distribution chain. It seemed like the more art we sold, the more demand we created. It was an incredible feeling to not be able to keep up with demand.

In college I made art that was really meaningful to me. I repainted gospel stories in modern settings so that the viewer really didn't know the paintings were gospel stories. I did a whole series inside of a convenience store where John and I worked. Late at night, we shut some of the lights off and set up our friends in poses, and I took pictures of them.

One of my professors, Ms. Mcwilly, always talked about the spiritual connection in art. She loved to talk esoterically while all the students listened to her. She said that art was prophetic and what we painted would manifest in our life. I believed her and always thought about what I would paint. I didn't want to paint anything dark or anything I didn't want in my life.

Art Without Borders

After Dimitra was born, John and I craved to be near family. Our parents lived on the west coast, and we lived in Georgia, far from any babysitters or grandparents. We decided to move to Arizona to be close to family, but the house we wanted to buy and could afford still needed to be built.

We calculated that we could live in Greece for a third of the cost of Georgia and could save a ton of money for our down payment. Robinson loved the idea of us moving to the red roof Mecca to get some real inspiration. Gary was supportive as well.

This opened a whole new paradigm for us. In what other profession could you just pick and move to another country for six months and work? Building an art business gave us tremendous freedom. We could live and work anywhere in the world and ship our paintings to our buyers, and we were set. I never imagined life could be this good.

We tried to pack light. We brought our art supplies, dachshund George, and baby Dimitra and set out for a six-month adventure in our beloved country Greece. We chose to live next to family in Kavala, a northern city set along the seaside. Kavala used to be called Neapoli in ancient times, and Phillipi, where Paul was put in jail, was only miles away. We were excited for the change and to be immersed into the Greek culture.

Our relatives picked us up from the airport and told us that the furnished apartment we were renting wasn't quite ready, so we needed to stay with them for a couple of days. We filled my uncle in on our lives and how we earn a living and let him know what we would need to create a studio in our apartment.

I had only set up an art studio one time in my life, in Georgia, so this was new and a bit of a challenge in a foreign country. I drew out the easels we needed to build. Our neighbor in Georgia helped me with my studio and engineered a wall easel for me that cost only about $40 in materials to build. The surface to paint against was 4 feet by 8 feet.

“Why you need so big easel to paint?” my uncle asked.

“We paint on several paintings at one time and tape the canvases up on this giant surface and paint like 8-10 paintings at one time.” I told him.

“You guys are an art factory, no?” said my uncle.

“Well this art factory gets to live in Greece for six months while they build our house, so I’m not complaining!” I said defensively.

Sleepless in Kavala

While we waited to get into our apartment, we went all over the city with my uncle collecting art supplies and building materials. We even found roofing tar and resin to make our special Paul Robinson concoction for the crackle technique. We learned that the name for paint solvent is “Nefti,” and that the price for rolled canvas in Greece is a third of the price we were used to paying.

We shocked the art supply store clerk requesting the entire huge roll of canvas. She asked us how many paintings we were going to paint. We said, “Probably about 300-400. How long will it take to order another roll of canvas?”

“They are an art factory, these guys,” says my uncle, semi-proud, semi-disapproving.

I could hardly sleep that night awaiting the morning when we would go see the apartment for the first time. My uncle warned us that it wasn't glamorous for the price we wanted. I was hopeful but also a little worried.

We started the short drive from my uncle’s house down the windy road along the seaside. The neighborhood was on the outskirts of the city, where there were beaches and parks and easy parking. As we climbed a small hill up to the apartment, I could see piles of red roof houses below. I could see our paintings in every direction we looked. Red-tiled roofs stacked between cypress trees and oleanders, budding with flowers against the turquoise sea. I saw a piece of heaven.

We parked the car and started to walk up a few flights of stairs.

“You see, with the cheap price you wanted, there is no elevator. You have to climb stairs,” says my uncle with a bit of disgust. He put the key in the door and turned it many times until the door popped open. He opened the door, and before he could even say one more word, John and I—baby in tow—hurled past him and walked inside.

Heaven From Above

There was a huge glass wall of sliding doors in the living room with shut white curtains. John grabbed two curtains and flung them apart to expose a giant, flaming red field of poppy flowers below. I opened the door, went outside, and leaned against the railing.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing. A sprawling field of poppies with several red-tiled roof homes stacked below on the hillside, and then an incredible view of the sea. It was a perfect picture of the hundreds or maybe even 1,000 paintings we created of red poppy fields and the red roof houses.

As my uncle caught up, he heard me gasp and said, “What is wrong? Your face!”

I choked back the tears and felt completely overwhelmed with wonder, awe, and gratitude. I turned to my uncle. “It’s perfect in every way!”

I felt like I was standing in the middle of my destiny. I was living a prophecy foretold long ago. Ms. Mcwilly’s word came flooding back to me: “What you paint is what you get.” They are not just words. This is truth.

The Power of a Painting

I never thought of our silly couch art the same again. A painting doesn’t know that is decorative, and it doesn’t know that it is fine art. A painting only knows the prophecy it beholds, and it will not return empty. It will fulfill the purpose that it was intended for. A painting doesn’t know that it is bad or good, beautiful or plain. It only knows its why.

Where are all the paintings that should have been painted by our art school friends? They never came to life. They were never painted. They only exist as intention or “someday,” or “when I retire.”

But your paintings have power. They are prophecy. They create worlds. Your paintings open up pathways. They heal the brokenhearted and restore the foundations that lie in ruins. Your paintings breathe life into weary souls and bring hope to those who have been ravaged by loss.

They bring joy where there was sadness and wonder where there was apathy. Your paintings behold things you cannot even conceive of.

So be as prolific as you can, and let us build the future we want.

Have you ever experienced artwork prophesying something that came to pass in your life?

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