we've painted a picture, now we're drowning in the paint
forgive my divagation. this post may not be outlining the original thesis.
in celebration of the birth of a new project, febrile hands sweep the brush across the canvas, pressing a bit more here for texture, a bit lighter there for contrast. obtrusive sounds do not dampen the spirit of the muse. it is how usually things start out: with passion, with reason and purpose, and with hope. with hope that the portrait will reflect the artist justly in some way. with hope that each pigment will convey the artists' ideals and thoughts, but most importantly, his feelings.
each day that the artist ventures out into the world, he is painting upon a new canvas. some may use yesterday's colors, others are fabricating new shades and hues, disposing of their old and worn brushes. his actions mimic the quality of paint that is used. it shapes the world to be diaphanous, no longer as inspirational.
somehow, the picture is complete. the palette and brush are discarded. the artist is astonished by the remarkable talent that is demonstrated in each line, each place that you see one hue reach out for another and producing offspring of all shades. you can marvel only so long before your hands itch to take upon an additional challenge, to paint a new landscape. you then realize that your painting is only a dichotomy; displaying the world in which you wish to subsist in, and accenting the opposing qualities of the realm in which you do reside.
then, life processes come into play. as with anything that is neglected, the paint begins to lose its twinkle. the vibrant colors of our livelihood merge into the bland canvas that they were painted upon. every fine line on our bodies in turn become a chip of paint on the structure's surface.
the artist has an epiphany.
look within yourself, and you will realize that inspiration and all that cures the evil in this feral world is immanent. in the end, when we finally take a step back and attempt not at reconstructing what has been broken off, we will see that all the chipped portions have fused a portrait of their own.
in celebration of the birth of a new project, febrile hands sweep the brush across the canvas, pressing a bit more here for texture, a bit lighter there for contrast. obtrusive sounds do not dampen the spirit of the muse. it is how usually things start out: with passion, with reason and purpose, and with hope. with hope that the portrait will reflect the artist justly in some way. with hope that each pigment will convey the artists' ideals and thoughts, but most importantly, his feelings.
each day that the artist ventures out into the world, he is painting upon a new canvas. some may use yesterday's colors, others are fabricating new shades and hues, disposing of their old and worn brushes. his actions mimic the quality of paint that is used. it shapes the world to be diaphanous, no longer as inspirational.
somehow, the picture is complete. the palette and brush are discarded. the artist is astonished by the remarkable talent that is demonstrated in each line, each place that you see one hue reach out for another and producing offspring of all shades. you can marvel only so long before your hands itch to take upon an additional challenge, to paint a new landscape. you then realize that your painting is only a dichotomy; displaying the world in which you wish to subsist in, and accenting the opposing qualities of the realm in which you do reside.
then, life processes come into play. as with anything that is neglected, the paint begins to lose its twinkle. the vibrant colors of our livelihood merge into the bland canvas that they were painted upon. every fine line on our bodies in turn become a chip of paint on the structure's surface.
the artist has an epiphany.
look within yourself, and you will realize that inspiration and all that cures the evil in this feral world is immanent. in the end, when we finally take a step back and attempt not at reconstructing what has been broken off, we will see that all the chipped portions have fused a portrait of their own.