Let me take the time to offer a thought after some recent introspection. I am not talented whatsoever.

For years I thought of myself as a pretty good photographer — and at times a good writer. Both skills, in one capacity or another, are considered art.

That is where I have come to my most recent realization.

Saturday, I spent time covering parts of the annual Pilgrimage. In doing so, I met those who did metal work, made soap out of goats milk, did pottery and painted.

Again, let me say, I am not talented.

Those I met were from Selma, Birmingham, Gadsden, Marion Junction and Northport. What they had in common, was they were in Selma on likely the most beautiful weekends of the year.

These artists were participating in a few of the events tied to Pilgrimage — and attracted plenty of attention. Their work was not only beautiful — but awe-inspiring.

Again, let me say, I am not talented.

I’ve always been amazed at those who can look at a wet pile of mud and envision the finished flower vase; those who look at a blank canvas and are able to duplicate what they see or imagine with oil or water-based paints or those who can heat, pound and shape metal into useful items.

My grandfather had a similar talent. He could see a bench, trunk or anything else made of wood and then go back home and duplicate it.

He was an artist with stain, routers and a table saw.

There may be those who say writing a story or composing a photograph is art — and by definition it is — but my work, compared to the work created by these great talents, is far short of talent.

Thank you Pilgrimage for bringing these treasures to Selma.