Rhythmic colors flow on to my plain white existence. My small white square of the world to tell them what my whole life is about. the cold concrete walls and floors of the bear room seems an ironic place to complete this. The brush is part of me, as if attached to my hand, the colors are peices of my soul. So many memories drowned away in colors and symphony. Mozart soothes me as his beautiful music flows around me. He inspires me, I begin. Dipping the brush into my blood and making my pain known, spreading my tears across this cold white surface expressing my sorrow. No skin because you all look right through me, hair like fire that rages across my face. Love that burns deep within me that is long past. The colors seem to come off and dance to the exquisite melodies that fill this cold and darkened room.
It almost chills my soul to think that so much can not be understood from my work. All these people see are lines upon my canvas hanging in a gallery because it is considered 'good'. they don't relate and understand that eache color, brush stroke, shape, shadow, and layer is there to represent my soul, my very being, my lifei n one small square for the whole world to view and criticize.The truth is though that its not for me to explain to you my life, or my experiences, its for you to interpret, compare, and relate to the painting. Connect really make it your own and understand the emotion that was put into the painting and not ust see what is painted but why it is.
Inspiration is what i need, but where does it come from? perhaps from music, the flowers and tress outside my window, m little brother and older sisters, my faith, an old house, a poem, or even from the clouds. Inspiration is all around us all you have to do is reach out and grab it then spread it on to a canvas and hope people understand what your meaning is.
So much of me goes into my art, I think that is why artists die young. They just don't have anything left to give to the world they have spilled their entire soul. Art is all around you. The music you listen to, the outfits you wear. and how you dance, how you speak, how you sign your name. Art is just a small moment in your life that has been captured to your best ability and preserved forever in your heart.
You can't be a bad artist only a bad observer. There is beauty in everything, even a simple red streak of paint across a plain white canvas. Art is a magnificent lie that makes us question the truth. It tells a whole life story without ever saying a word. It touches your heart, your soul, and opens your mind. Art breathes life into you. Art is my Life.
