Life is this cup full of creamy dreams. You drink and feel warm. No one knows, so we invent reasons. The paint and the brush are all forms of the cup. They create and grow images on scales never seen in this reality. I love that in this secret universe, you are the brush and the page.
I've been on this journey all year in 2020 to find a new inspiration. Children weeping in cages angered me to the brush last year but all artists of a note know one emotion is never enough to continuously inspire. I urn for more this year than anger and sadness filled paintings. I have to find the river and drink from it again and fill. Blue, red, and yellow need dirt, wind, and water. To be the sun and full the world is the ambition. Chasing the stars in the night sky is too much these days.
Feels like a broken block. Round holes and square pegs. We are the last and first puzzle pieces. The edges are not cracked, they have a natural edge. Nothing gets to create its own shadow in the sun. We just have to learn to love ourselves and the ways we create.
Even with all the inner wars, at least there is nudity. The honest and faithful shape of the form. It drives from Earth to sky. The clipping of true inspiration. Little scents and sounds dancing in minds. A hip and a mouth, round curves.
A heart and spine, endless lines. Back to the basics. Rhythm and time need a reset.
see you soon.
