“The Paintbrush Game”
By Jonathan Betts Fields

The directions seemed simple: paint a beautiful picture. My group included 11 year olds, teenagers, and a few chaperones in my age range; many of former were already anticipating their turn. Nevermind the lack of paintbrushes, paint or even paper. Ben, our activity leader, imitated intense brush strokes so well that most never noticed – the key to his painting’s beauty was something he did before he touched the brush. Tia, who suggested we play, peppered the air with encouragement and feedback, adding to the act nicely. After Ben signed his painting, he asked who was brave enough to go next.

“Piece of cake!” one of the younger boys shouted, as he quickly grabbed the capped marker from Ben’s hand. He scribbled a happy face hurriedly, duplicating Ben’s every move. Tia suppressed a smile, then began her rant: “I’ve seen elephants paint better pictures!” Laughter shot through the room like a lit fuse, but the boy persisted. “Maybe we can hang it in the zoo when you’re finished!” Ben added.

“Let me show you how it’s done…” Tia insisted. The group fell silent, eager to see what the jokester would paint. Most of us didn’t hear Tia say “Thank You” as she reached for the paintbrush. Ben did, and made sure everyone appreciated her artistic expression: “WOW!!!” With every stroke, he spoke. “Are you related to Picasso?” He continued, as did she…and a mix of bewilderment and elation washed over those of us sitting in that circle.

Ben encouraged one of the quieter teenagers to go next; she eventually obliged. Tia offered her the paintbrush, then replied “You’re Welcome” after gratitude was whispered. Ben and Tia then shared a quick smirk. Next, they took turns admiring every inch of her painting, causing the girl to blush at the perplexed looks around her. She finished her painting and immediately passed the paintbrush to the boy next to her.

Ben barked “Where are your manners?,” yet the boy continued to splash invisible paint on his see-through canvas. Tia saw light bulbs brighten in the eyes of several of us and forced him to finish. Her suggestion to pass the paintbrush to an older boy yielded a firm “Thank you.”

He replied, “You’re Welcome,” and jumped a bit as if a doctor was checking his reflexes: he now knew how to win the game.

A number of factors made me fall in love with the Paintbrush game: it was fun and new, it isn’t difficult to play and it passes on a time-proof message. I enjoy playing wherever I may be: in an elementary school classroom, at an international peace camp, or with new friends on a Friday night. No matter your native tongue or number of languages learned, Thank You and You’re Welcome are among the first few expressions you use. Whether politeness is shared warmly or not said at all determines the beauty within the world you create.



*Headed to the publisher TODAY!!

Fall Photo Haiku

Written, styled and shot by JBF on November 4th, 2008

A Grab Bag Full of Flavors

Timestamp

You save my daylight.

Reset time then say I'm wrong.

You, me...2 time zones.

10.26.08

Tantrums

Help

Analyze

Nervousness.

Keep

Living...

Everyday

Someone

Sighs.

Half

...12Mar09

Staring through your eyes

I am entering suspense.

Almost past perfect,

You hold forever gently.

Don't let me paint us alone.

2002

A Few With You

I wish I could wink.

I'd leave a few with you and

Then wait for the change.

09Apr09

Sing Out Loud, Sing Out Strong

I want to take a moment to thank everyone involved with planning and running the "Let the World Sing Along" Village in Lyon.

This was my second time chaperoning kids out of the country and this time was so very different. I think because this Village reminded me of the one I attended as an 11 year old in Stockholm, Sweden.

It's amazing how many teachable moments one person can have when they can accept anyone as a teacher.

Experiences like these are why I will never attend an anti-war rally, but I will die for peace.

(Side note: If you've seen me then you've seen the yellow LiveStrong "ribbon" I wear for family and friends.)

Big hugs to Argentina, Columbia, Costa Rica, Egypt, France, Georgia, Germany, Italy, Lebanon, Slovenia, Spain, Sweden, Denver, CO and Detroit, MI (USA 1 & 2)!!

Long live CISV!!!!

Visit CISV.org or CISVUSA.org for more info on our

direct cultural exchange programs

for youth and adults.

Voter #45

November 4th 2008

My moment came standing in line at 7:39.

Some stand silent, some smile trying to wake up & stay warm.

Mind you, there are at least 200 people in said line and the woman I saw leaving with her lawn chair said she arrived at 6:15.

I look down to see dew on shoes and grass on grey suede from the quick trip I took across the lawn.

A good friend taught me to take a look at my feet whenever I think I'll want to see that moment in my mind on repeat, so I just did.

I parked a little ways away and my brother arrived earlier in the day so I sought him out and passed the port.

I love to see people of different hues share their political point of view and this morning with me and my cold extremities.

I heard only 10% of Detroit voted last time around – today the record's being broken because of a guy named Barack.

I feel like I'm making history while standing in the footsteps of ancestors before me and that's why I chose not to vote absentee.

And here comes the sun....

I knew it was a win when I felt the 70° day the weatherman forecasted.

It was a beautiful day and an electric night.

The energy erupted shortly after 11 o’clock.

Shades of smiles sit in front of TVs, party in a park in the Windy City and shout through the streets of Motown like our favorite team just won the championship.

We chose change & now we’re ready to work for it.

From "44th: The Commemorative Edition"

Poems, art, photographs and thirty-two front page reprints from

African American newspapers celebrate the historic 2008 Presidential Election.

Please visit www.44th.net to order your copy or to peruse the book virtually.

Coldest Winter Ever

Written, styled & shot by JBF,

January 30th, 2009

No Airs

How do you console someone who lost their dream - a loved one is easier to lose.

How would you approach the situation, how would you fit in their shoes?

Would you share a tear,

Push them further from fear,

Or remind them that real friends are always near?

Would you sell them a cruise ship of fantasies, hoping their cares float away?

Could you comprehend the silence when you can't find words to say?

Will you be close by when a laugh finally falls from their frown?

Or will reality make their lofty ambitions crumble to the ground?

Will you help them rededicate themselves?...Nose to the grindstone.

Will their reaction to the loss make you believe enough to make their dream your own?

Would you put on airs and pretend or care, or

Could you help them breath with no air?



Backstory: I wrote this piece while riding the coaster encouraged by a fellowship announcement that was missing my name. The first words out of my mother's mouth were "You are a fellow, you just didn't get their prize money." She then invited me to sit closer to the grindstone, so move my stool I did.

And yes, that was meant as a double entendre: think an apprentice's seat & getting rid of waste.