(no subject)
I need to paint.
I am a writer, but I find it hard to write down what cannot be organized into specific thoughts. Not today. My fingers shake with the need to create something, anything, to make my mark. I need to cry, laugh, and scream. I need to paint trees.
I have a fascination with trees. I want to go back to Savannah and just sit on a bench and stare at a tree. There is something so uniform, yet so wildly untamed about them. If I start to draw a tree, I might not move for hours. One branch may take me an hour alone, for each has its own personality and careful attention must be paid to expressing it as it would like to be expressed. They intimidate me, yet at the same time captivate. What I produce never does them justice.
One day.
I am a writer, but I find it hard to write down what cannot be organized into specific thoughts. Not today. My fingers shake with the need to create something, anything, to make my mark. I need to cry, laugh, and scream. I need to paint trees.
I have a fascination with trees. I want to go back to Savannah and just sit on a bench and stare at a tree. There is something so uniform, yet so wildly untamed about them. If I start to draw a tree, I might not move for hours. One branch may take me an hour alone, for each has its own personality and careful attention must be paid to expressing it as it would like to be expressed. They intimidate me, yet at the same time captivate. What I produce never does them justice.
One day.