At the end of the last school year as we scurried about preparing for graduation I found this lovely Buddha in the highly polished North Hall, dangerously close to a large trash can. I took a photo with my phone and promptly sent it to our resident art teacher to see if she knew whose it was. “Yes of course. That’s Sophie’s Buddha!”
The email exchange went something like this…
Subject: your Buddha
Hi Sophie, I’m not sure if you intended to throw your Buddha away but I found him near the trash cans in the North Hall. If you don’t want him, I will buy him from you! That will make you a professional sculptress!!
Subject: RE: your Buddha
Hi Mrs. Healy! I think my Buddha would love to live with you! Happy summer! :) Sophie
I was secretly delighted! He’s mine now! I loved the beautiful open and upturned hands and the amethest stone in his forehead. Why didn’t she want him, I wondered?  Maybe her mom wanted him. Should I have suggested that?
I took him home and found a place for him under my blossoming Santa Rosa plum tree. Narcissus grew around him. Plums dumped their juicy essence on his head. Yet, every time I ventured out to my garden he was there in all his peace and tranquility. I continued to ask myself.. why didn’t she want this masterpiece?
Months later, still pondering… I asked the art teacher, Mrs. Ford: “Did she get a bad grade on it? Is that why she didn’t want it?” Her response… “I don’t remember!!” Note to self.. never ask an art teacher for facts and data.
I’m left to speculate. Did someone tell her it wasn’t a good project? Did she get a poor grade on it? Who grades what we produce out of our souls and our essence? What talents have we abandoned because someone said “not good enough”?
Sophie’s trash..
My treasure.
