When the lies of the world get to be too much. . .
Imagine a world where there are no boundaries. A world were whats "expected" is nonexistent and all you see is truth. A world where people are turned inside out, exposing their souls freely. Not only freely, but without fear. Unfortunately as times have changed, our eyes have closed as a whole. Everyone is so worried about the ticking of the clock, they forget to stop and breathe. To take in life. To observe and to listen. To get to know one another on common grounds, instead of getting to know them just enough to bum a cigarette on the next 15 minute break.
I love painting. I love galleries. I love art in general. The way you can feel the artist through each stroke of their brush. How you can tell what they were feeling by the harshness of a line, or the delicacy in the waters reflection. Art as a magical, unexplainable way of making me feel alive. It connects me to people without the need for verbal conversation.
The painting and mixing. Paint brushes sprawled all over the floor like crumbled papers. Empty paint bottles filling the tin trashcan next to my desk. Canvas engulfing the room like an oversize quilt. Music playing quietly in the background, as the strokes of my brush sway with the tempo. I get lost in the world where rules don't abide and boundaries are for those blinded by time. Because here, time is of no essence.
Art is how I connect with the world and it's how I express all of me without fear of being misjudged. When I paint, the paintbrush does the talking . . . and everyone one else does the listening. There are no lies between a brush and canvas. Only desires of truth.
It's my world with no boundaries.
I love that.
and all it tells me . . . is truth.
I love painting. I love galleries. I love art in general. The way you can feel the artist through each stroke of their brush. How you can tell what they were feeling by the harshness of a line, or the delicacy in the waters reflection. Art as a magical, unexplainable way of making me feel alive. It connects me to people without the need for verbal conversation.
The painting and mixing. Paint brushes sprawled all over the floor like crumbled papers. Empty paint bottles filling the tin trashcan next to my desk. Canvas engulfing the room like an oversize quilt. Music playing quietly in the background, as the strokes of my brush sway with the tempo. I get lost in the world where rules don't abide and boundaries are for those blinded by time. Because here, time is of no essence.
Art is how I connect with the world and it's how I express all of me without fear of being misjudged. When I paint, the paintbrush does the talking . . . and everyone one else does the listening. There are no lies between a brush and canvas. Only desires of truth.
It's my world with no boundaries.
I love that.
and all it tells me . . . is truth.