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Something feels urgent.
All day I worked under this pretense.
Even
as summer looms, I felt as if something else was pushing me on. As if
something inside me urged, "Hurry and do this. Hurry and flood it all
on the canvas." As if there was some urgent need for me to pour my
heart, all of it. To spill it and drown it in the picture, so that I
alone could read it and see myself reflected back in those colors and
and those lines. So that when I was through, and broke out of this
hypnotic trance that you can only find when you have entered your own
world, I would be able to step back and see only myself on the canvas.
We leave our bodies and senses behind in that trance: we abandon
everything in this world to step inside our hearts. But we step in it
blind, and dip our brushes in the source of everything. We let our
hearts paint for us: that's the secret. That's the source of everything.
I
was hoping to find myself. I was hoping that I could trick my heart
into telling me what I'm missing, what I can't get past. What I need.
And something inside was crying out: "You can't stop until you've finished!"
So I went on for three hours,
but I still haven't finished. |
| | Posted 5/12/2006 3:15 PM - 16 Views
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