I claim to want riches, lots of money, exquisite sculptures and paintings, one of a kind of everything under the sun, collector's items, precious things, everything, a fancy house on the beach, another in the city and a third in the hills.
Maybe I want love and happiness, to work on something enchanting, inspiring and motivating, to surround myself with people who challenge me, engage me intellectually.
To be able to write the stories that appear in my mind at the oddest of moments, when I'm walking or talking or looking out the window on a cold rainy day, when I'm laughing or crying, to be able to make words feel emotions, to be able to translate this wonderful magical experience of living into words and sentences.
I want to sing the songs that I make up in my dreams, in time with every step I take when I'm awake. To hum, maybe whistle, to describe what it's like to be in my shoes through tunes.
I want to dance, each step following the rhythm of the beating of my heart, each movement a reflection of the deep, dark corners of my soul. An expression of why I am who I am and what it is that makes up this consciousness that I call myself.
The dreams of castles, gems and riches coexist with those of freedom and expression, coexisting, supporting, growing, not judging. For they are all the same, these dreams, manifestations of desires of grandeur, material and of the mind.
They all spin in a tight whirlpool, the occasional memory or emotion joins in for the ride before going back to their respective areas of expertise. This is the world of dreams, and everyone is welcome.
And if I walk through them, brushing aside the ones that get tangled in my hair, holding back the ones that try to engulf me, push away those that try to absorb my humanity, there is a calm centre. Nothing spins, there is no sound, no feeling. There it is, the one original dream. Pure and untouched.
I'm an artist. Sitting by the street, cross legged on the pavement, on the rocks by the stream with my feet in the water. And I create, paintings of people, places and things. Obscure, abstract images which are at the same time a depiction of clarity. Paintings lacking conventional beauty rather containing some ethereal quality, brush strokes representing interconnected thoughts and philosophies, that no one really gets but everyone pretends to understand.
Maybe I want love and happiness, to work on something enchanting, inspiring and motivating, to surround myself with people who challenge me, engage me intellectually.
To be able to write the stories that appear in my mind at the oddest of moments, when I'm walking or talking or looking out the window on a cold rainy day, when I'm laughing or crying, to be able to make words feel emotions, to be able to translate this wonderful magical experience of living into words and sentences.
I want to sing the songs that I make up in my dreams, in time with every step I take when I'm awake. To hum, maybe whistle, to describe what it's like to be in my shoes through tunes.
I want to dance, each step following the rhythm of the beating of my heart, each movement a reflection of the deep, dark corners of my soul. An expression of why I am who I am and what it is that makes up this consciousness that I call myself.
The dreams of castles, gems and riches coexist with those of freedom and expression, coexisting, supporting, growing, not judging. For they are all the same, these dreams, manifestations of desires of grandeur, material and of the mind.
They all spin in a tight whirlpool, the occasional memory or emotion joins in for the ride before going back to their respective areas of expertise. This is the world of dreams, and everyone is welcome.
And if I walk through them, brushing aside the ones that get tangled in my hair, holding back the ones that try to engulf me, push away those that try to absorb my humanity, there is a calm centre. Nothing spins, there is no sound, no feeling. There it is, the one original dream. Pure and untouched.
I'm an artist. Sitting by the street, cross legged on the pavement, on the rocks by the stream with my feet in the water. And I create, paintings of people, places and things. Obscure, abstract images which are at the same time a depiction of clarity. Paintings lacking conventional beauty rather containing some ethereal quality, brush strokes representing interconnected thoughts and philosophies, that no one really gets but everyone pretends to understand.
posted from Bloggeroid
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