User blogs
You look down at the reflection of
the paint in the can. Today, I am red.
Distilled into your purest form. Inviting and mysterious, I wait eternally for your touch, thick or thin.
The air of old print swirls and floats with my aroma, inhaled as those wandering eyes trace invisible lines on the canvas. As the coarse hairs catch me, absorb me, I drip with anticipation. Up and down, brushing and moving me as you wish.
On Three windows, a soul peers. One to paint, one to be painted, and one to witness it. I am applied, my awareness spans and stretches across this vision. “Like this” you say to me. Soon you'll be in that artist's headspace again: those eyes shining so brightly against the overhead lights. I love seeing myself in your eyes, because that's how I can see your masterpiece. No one else holds me with such grace. To be in the hands of an artist, there's nothing quite so powerful. Surrounded by lovely white nothingness.
Today, I am a flower, turning pink. Brighter and warmer as the glow from your spirit nourishes me. Each new addition I show dimension. You decide my fate. Two more petals, And so I am floating with the stars. My place has been found in the cosmos, it has been made. And I feel wonderful. And yet there is still more to be done.
Today, I am the dark. I am infinite. I am one with you. The space around me consumed by the generous attention of the black paint can. Your Mirror. Left alone with me, you sit and contemplate your next move. Your place in this piece. Within me you find nothing, and everything. Drawn out into awareness by the light of your unrealized imagination, so many ideas fly by. Dots of white and blue, splatter and pepper the sky. Now, you seek to find closure. But there is none. My skin is shallow, and my gaze is deep. The piece that you construct now stares back at you. Fixating your mind. When you look at me I take your thoughts piece by piece and gently place them among the void.
I create meaning out of nothing, without you I am nothing. Without me there is nothing. And now as you appreciate my work, I look on at my piece, distilled into its purest form. Ready and waiting to show how good it feels, to be so ready to turn into the masterpiece I know it can be.
Today, I am the brush. I am the window. I am the artist.
And you are my subject.
