4/2/2006 - Life as an artist
Life as an artist...
As his hands slowly caressed her leg, he couldn't help but admire every
curve, the way the moonlight light reflected warmly around her. Oh what
a beauty she was. Finely crafted at the hands of master. Smooth, sexy
but modest and to think he'd found he'd found her on a whim. A
necessity yes, but certainly not practical.
Suddenly the sound of a crash, someone fumbling in the dark and a
yell..."Turn on the light already!" With a long sigh and the moment
between them broken his hands travel upward searching. She makes a
barely audible click and instantly the room is bathed in her soft
brilliant light. He imagines, the result of his heated touch.
Reality. There sits his wife amidst a pile of coats that had fallen
when she ran into the coat rack, in the dark. Standing, rubbing her
hip, she simply smiles understanding and says, "You artists and your
moments".
Everything holds some wonderful beauty. Every curve flows and stirs
the imagination. Each shadow hides a mystery...here in the artists
eye. A flower inthe garden is beautiful on it's own, add the artist
and its story plays out before their eyes. Reaching, growing..so many
images, so many stories...so much to tell and all from a single rose.
The sun softly setting. Beautful colors.. so striking a poet cannot
resist. The painter captures as best he can. The glory, the
magnitude...what lovers feel, God's granduer, lovers kissing under the
fading hues.
An artist doesn't simply see, he lives. In and through everything
around him. It just happens, immediately he's caught in the
moment. Ahhh the artists eye leads straight to his soul, what he see's
he feels, what he feels he writes, he paints, he photographs, he picks
up and instrument and plays, he simply conveys what has been spoken to
him. A translator of the world around us. We need that sometimes. We
forget the beauty, we forget the music, our days become so hectic, we
simply forget to enjoy. We carry pain, we forget to cry.
Some see the birth, others the dying and still others the road and trials on the journey from one to the other.
Trials, hopes, needs, desire, wants, fears. We purchase paintings for
the way they make us feel. We decorate our homes, paintings...art
add's life. We fill our shelves with books. We play a variety of
music, to break the silence. Beauty, passion, patriotism, science
fiction to fill our needs to escape, to imagine, to dream, to live
outside our regular mundane patterns.
We create art, for the same reasons but also because we long to share,
all that we see, all that we see in everything around us inanimate, and
breathing. The keys speak softly under my fingers, perhaps an annoying
tap tap tap to others. A lulling rhythm broken only for a moment of
thought or reflection for the writer. Just plastic but so much more, my
key to describing to you in words and visions the things I see, the
things I feel and hoping that something moves you as I have been moved.
If you close your eyes and imagine a kiss, feel the warm breath lightly
across your cheek. Your heart beat steadily increasing in rhythm, the
world quiets around you. Anticipation, warm soft skin ever so gently
brushing your own. The rest is automatic, your lips part in
supplication, and the kiss deepens. Sweet tastes, and sensations that
rush through you. Such is like the artist with brush, camera, or pen in
hand, captured within the moment, the soul takes over, it is near
automatic. Words, colors and stories flow, a timeless kiss, captured
forever.
Inspiration? How can one lack. In everything around you, there is
something. A bird chirps and forms a rhyme. The news tells current
events. There are emotions upon emotions to convey. Thoughts,
theories, philoshophies, beauty, the ugliness that so often is shadowed
beneath. Society,technology, kids, family, cars, how can one be
lacking for inspiration?
It happens. It's the artists worst nightmare. Like now, although it's
more just the time to end this rather than any lack of inspiration ;)
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