Monday, January 31, 2011
Inspiration Is A Wayward Muse
The Artist bought the canvas and set it directly in front of the North-facing window in his studio.
The late afternoon light shone through it, heady and dark yellow, as if the canvas was a one-faceted prism.
This canvas was to be the starting point of his greatest masterpiece, the painting that would make him world-famous and a magnet for all of the beautiful and sensitive women of the world.
The problem was, he hadn't the faintest idea as to what the painting would be...
*****
The Artist stood in front of the canvas one morning in June, his right hand stroked an invisible goatee as he stood with his other hand on his hip and his legs placed a foot apart.
He considered all of the beautiful and poignant things he could paint on the superb piece of spotless canvas, his mind flitting from image to image.
But he was disappointed, nothing seemed good enough, none of his ideas had the stuff of masterpiece.
So he set the canvas into a corner of his studio, between an old easel and the South wall. The easel had been his first; it was sturdy and well-built, but one of the legs had broken in such a way that it could not be repaired, and the Artist just couldn't bring himself to discard it. He believed in sentimentality.
There the canvas sat for months, while he painted portraits, commissions, and -in his mind, average pieces of art.
His talent grew, he became well-known in his city, and he forgot about the canvas that was pre-ordained for his masterpiece. It lay in the corner and gathered dust; forgotten and crumbled castles of air.
*****
Then, one glorious Sunday afternoon, as sunlight shone through the North window much like it had that afternoon many months before, the Artist experienced a fit of inspiration.
Colors and shapes poured onto the only canvas he could find, though he hadn't looked between the old easel and the South wall.
The canvas he Had found was dingy and old. A half-heartedly begun miniature still-life of a Chinese bowl with a daffodil design was placed a little toward the top of the left corner; the canvas had been set down and forgotten not long after he had started it years before.
The Artist left the unfinished daffodil bowl where it was, with a few new touches here and there. He painted three yellow daffodils standing in the bowl, a pink petal drifting down the canvas underneath, and he painted the unfinished edges of the bowl all the more rough and jagged, causing it to look fragmented, as if a hole of nothingness was slowly consuming the bowl.
He actually thought that the already existing painting gave all the more to his original inspiration.
*****
The Artist painted in a feverish and soul venting ecstasy, his face dancing through a thousand different emotions as he lived his life ten times over. Paint flowed from his brush as if from his soul; he reeled with color and one single muse of a thousand facets. His brain changed dimensions, and his heart flew to heaven.
The Artist sweated pints of precious saltwater, enough for a small sea fish to live in; and he bled -though only a little, when he cut his finger on the top right corner of the canvas. Even he couldn't understand how in the name-of-the-secretive-man-on-the-moon had he cut his finger; but all the same, both sweat and blood mixed with the paint, and the Artist's soul was intertwined with what he now realized was becoming his lifetime's greatest masterpiece.
*****
Finally, he was done.
His muse finished their waltz and departed as he fell to his knees in exhaustion. He raised his eyes to take his fill of the finished painting, and what he saw filled his heart, body, and soul; and lit them all on a white, shining fire. He laughed and cried, his face in his hands, his fingers parted so he could gaze at the painting.
*****
He stood up, tears still streaming down his face, a smile playing about his wet lips, and his exhaustion was wiped away. He had been kneeling, entranced by his painting for over an hour, long enough for his masterpiece to dry.
The Artist was seized with an intense desire to share his painting with the world.
He whipped the canvas off the easel, and without even grabbing a coat, (he already had shoes on) he burst out of the door into the street, eager to show his painting to every person he met.
*****
The Artist made his way around town, spreading joy and beauty everywhere he went. Everyone he met was overcome with emotion at the sight of his painting, and every person led him to a friend, family member, or acquaintance they thought needed to experience the the Artist's masterpiece.
His painting eventually made its way to a prestigious art museum, there to be enjoyed by millions.
People came from all over the world to experience the Artist's painting, and they all fell to their knees, overcome with the ecstasy of beauty, joy, and tears.
****
And then one day, when he was moving out of his small and decrepit studio, as he was packing up all of his belongings, the Artist found the forlorn and neglected canvas, still between the North wall and the old easel, and still gathering dust.
The Artist picked it up and wiped it off with curiosity before he realized that this was the same, preordained canvas that he had put aside almost years ago, and he fell to his knees like that time once before, only this time with wonder and realization.
"Inspiration works in strange and mysterious ways..." were the words that echoed around his studio, the last words he himself would utter there.
The late afternoon light shone through it, heady and dark yellow, as if the canvas was a one-faceted prism.
This canvas was to be the starting point of his greatest masterpiece, the painting that would make him world-famous and a magnet for all of the beautiful and sensitive women of the world.
The problem was, he hadn't the faintest idea as to what the painting would be...
*****
The Artist stood in front of the canvas one morning in June, his right hand stroked an invisible goatee as he stood with his other hand on his hip and his legs placed a foot apart.
He considered all of the beautiful and poignant things he could paint on the superb piece of spotless canvas, his mind flitting from image to image.
But he was disappointed, nothing seemed good enough, none of his ideas had the stuff of masterpiece.
So he set the canvas into a corner of his studio, between an old easel and the South wall. The easel had been his first; it was sturdy and well-built, but one of the legs had broken in such a way that it could not be repaired, and the Artist just couldn't bring himself to discard it. He believed in sentimentality.
There the canvas sat for months, while he painted portraits, commissions, and -in his mind, average pieces of art.
His talent grew, he became well-known in his city, and he forgot about the canvas that was pre-ordained for his masterpiece. It lay in the corner and gathered dust; forgotten and crumbled castles of air.
*****
Then, one glorious Sunday afternoon, as sunlight shone through the North window much like it had that afternoon many months before, the Artist experienced a fit of inspiration.
Colors and shapes poured onto the only canvas he could find, though he hadn't looked between the old easel and the South wall.
The canvas he Had found was dingy and old. A half-heartedly begun miniature still-life of a Chinese bowl with a daffodil design was placed a little toward the top of the left corner; the canvas had been set down and forgotten not long after he had started it years before.
The Artist left the unfinished daffodil bowl where it was, with a few new touches here and there. He painted three yellow daffodils standing in the bowl, a pink petal drifting down the canvas underneath, and he painted the unfinished edges of the bowl all the more rough and jagged, causing it to look fragmented, as if a hole of nothingness was slowly consuming the bowl.
He actually thought that the already existing painting gave all the more to his original inspiration.
*****
The Artist painted in a feverish and soul venting ecstasy, his face dancing through a thousand different emotions as he lived his life ten times over. Paint flowed from his brush as if from his soul; he reeled with color and one single muse of a thousand facets. His brain changed dimensions, and his heart flew to heaven.
The Artist sweated pints of precious saltwater, enough for a small sea fish to live in; and he bled -though only a little, when he cut his finger on the top right corner of the canvas. Even he couldn't understand how in the name-of-the-secretive-man-on-the-moon had he cut his finger; but all the same, both sweat and blood mixed with the paint, and the Artist's soul was intertwined with what he now realized was becoming his lifetime's greatest masterpiece.
*****
Finally, he was done.
His muse finished their waltz and departed as he fell to his knees in exhaustion. He raised his eyes to take his fill of the finished painting, and what he saw filled his heart, body, and soul; and lit them all on a white, shining fire. He laughed and cried, his face in his hands, his fingers parted so he could gaze at the painting.
*****
He stood up, tears still streaming down his face, a smile playing about his wet lips, and his exhaustion was wiped away. He had been kneeling, entranced by his painting for over an hour, long enough for his masterpiece to dry.
The Artist was seized with an intense desire to share his painting with the world.
He whipped the canvas off the easel, and without even grabbing a coat, (he already had shoes on) he burst out of the door into the street, eager to show his painting to every person he met.
*****
The Artist made his way around town, spreading joy and beauty everywhere he went. Everyone he met was overcome with emotion at the sight of his painting, and every person led him to a friend, family member, or acquaintance they thought needed to experience the the Artist's masterpiece.
His painting eventually made its way to a prestigious art museum, there to be enjoyed by millions.
People came from all over the world to experience the Artist's painting, and they all fell to their knees, overcome with the ecstasy of beauty, joy, and tears.
****
And then one day, when he was moving out of his small and decrepit studio, as he was packing up all of his belongings, the Artist found the forlorn and neglected canvas, still between the North wall and the old easel, and still gathering dust.
The Artist picked it up and wiped it off with curiosity before he realized that this was the same, preordained canvas that he had put aside almost years ago, and he fell to his knees like that time once before, only this time with wonder and realization.
"Inspiration works in strange and mysterious ways..." were the words that echoed around his studio, the last words he himself would utter there.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
An experiment, with rather boring results
Original message: when will I be truly happy again?
Translated to Japanese on Babylon.com:
私はいつ再び本当に幸せになるでしょうか？
Japanese translated to English again on other sites:
http://translate.google.com/m/translate?hl=en&twu=1
I will be happy again, or when?
http://babelfish.yahoo.com/translate_txt
& #31169; & #12399; & #12356; & #12388; & #20877; & #12403; & #26412; & #24403; & #12395; & #24184; & #12379; & #12395; & #12394; & #12427; & #12391; & #12375; & #12423; & #12358; & #12363; & #65311;
http://www.microsofttranslator.com/
I when back really to be happy?
http://translate.reference.com/translate?query=私はいつ再び本当に幸せになるでしょうか？&src=ja&dst=en&v=1.0
I will be happy again, or when?
Translated to Japanese on Babylon.com:
私はいつ再び本当に幸せになるでしょうか？
Japanese translated to English again on other sites:
http://translate.google.com/m/translate?hl=en&twu=1
I will be happy again, or when?
http://babelfish.yahoo.com/translate_txt
& #31169; & #12399; & #12356; & #12388; & #20877; & #12403; & #26412; & #24403; & #12395; & #24184; & #12379; & #12395; & #12394; & #12427; & #12391; & #12375; & #12423; & #12358; & #12363; & #65311;
http://www.microsofttranslator.com/
I when back really to be happy?
http://translate.reference.com/translate?query=私はいつ再び本当に幸せになるでしょうか？&src=ja&dst=en&v=1.0
I will be happy again, or when?
Friday, January 28, 2011
Facebook quotes that I have deleted from my profile
"I'm not afraid to be different, but that does not always mean it is easy."
~Amoniel
" God is within everything, and is everywhere. So if one loves God, one loves the whole of this world, and there is no longer room for hate or fear."
~Amoniel
"You must be the change you want to see in the world."
~Mahatma Gandhi
"What's the big deal with Twilight? I liked it better when people were nuts over harry potter."
~Amoniel
"The good ship Self Esteem has crashed... Again.
Never have I met such an accident-ridden boat."
~Amoniel
~Amoniel
" God is within everything, and is everywhere. So if one loves God, one loves the whole of this world, and there is no longer room for hate or fear."
~Amoniel
"You must be the change you want to see in the world."
~Mahatma Gandhi
"What's the big deal with Twilight? I liked it better when people were nuts over harry potter."
~Amoniel
"The good ship Self Esteem has crashed... Again.
Never have I met such an accident-ridden boat."
~Amoniel
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Flutters
I love
clouds,
Green grass,
reflections,
Flower petals,
Feathers,
3D,
Shadows,
Moonlight,
Leaves,
rainbows,
Snow,
Sunshine,
and tracks.
clouds,
Green grass,
reflections,
Flower petals,
Feathers,
3D,
Shadows,
Moonlight,
Leaves,
rainbows,
Snow,
Sunshine,
and tracks.
What do you think?
Six Billion Secrets is a really sobering website.
It makes me want to be an even better person.
It makes me want to rid myself of all surface judgments.
It makes me want to tell I everyone I know "I love you" every day, because I do love everyone.
It makes me want to become the best version of myself right now.
Funny how that works, isn't it?
It makes me want to be an even better person.
It makes me want to rid myself of all surface judgments.
It makes me want to tell I everyone I know "I love you" every day, because I do love everyone.
It makes me want to become the best version of myself right now.
Funny how that works, isn't it?
Friday, January 21, 2011
Stargirl
4 to 11. Stargirl to Love. I mostly cried through the first, I don't know why. I laughed through the second.
She's like me on steroids, a time traveler in now.
A master.
She is my hero, my inspiration.
I am her.
In more ways than a few.
I just wish I could bring as much joy as she does.
She's like me on steroids, a time traveler in now.
A master.
She is my hero, my inspiration.
I am her.
In more ways than a few.
I just wish I could bring as much joy as she does.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Moon shadows
I would like to spend a winter night in the desert during the full moon.
No streetlights, houselights, or car lights. Just the moon, the stars, and me.
No streetlights, houselights, or car lights. Just the moon, the stars, and me.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Being self-aware
I swear that God is giving me hints on why not to judge people.
As it is, I've never thought of myself as a particularly judgmental person, but I have since had to change that belief, as I have noticed after reading a chapter on the subject in MOTFE III.
I'm finding quotes on such things all over the place, friend's profiles, stories, and as I said earlier, MOTFE III. (Wonderful books, by the way, you really should check them out. I'm reading them for the Spiritual Growth section of my schooling.)
It's great being aware, and I'm thankful for all of the things that have brought me to where I am.
I am becoming continuously mindful of the things about myself that I need to work on, my judgments and pre-conceived opinions are just some of them.
As it is, I've never thought of myself as a particularly judgmental person, but I have since had to change that belief, as I have noticed after reading a chapter on the subject in MOTFE III.
I'm finding quotes on such things all over the place, friend's profiles, stories, and as I said earlier, MOTFE III. (Wonderful books, by the way, you really should check them out. I'm reading them for the Spiritual Growth section of my schooling.)
It's great being aware, and I'm thankful for all of the things that have brought me to where I am.
I am becoming continuously mindful of the things about myself that I need to work on, my judgments and pre-conceived opinions are just some of them.
Whatever
The good ship Self Esteem has crashed... Again.
Never have I met such an accident-ridden boat.
Never have I met such an accident-ridden boat.
A title is only worth as much as it's wit.
I am excited to reveal it, but do not feel that it is ready for the hardness and disappointment of the world yet. Still only a newborn, easily crushed under the weight of gravity. Delicate as a spring daffodil, beautiful and pure.
Why would I reveal it too early, only to lessen it's chance of survival? I love it too much already.
Besides, it has not yet been fully named.
Why would I reveal it too early, only to lessen it's chance of survival? I love it too much already.
Besides, it has not yet been fully named.
Friday, January 14, 2011
The fluggums
Feeling quietly happy, content.
Wrote a letter to someone dear, I hope it makes her day. It made my mine. How strange, that the simple act of writing to someone, and feeling as if they were there, though in all possibility, they will only set eyes on it in the near future. That is the bane and the boon of letter writing.
Wrote a letter to someone dear, I hope it makes her day. It made my mine. How strange, that the simple act of writing to someone, and feeling as if they were there, though in all possibility, they will only set eyes on it in the near future. That is the bane and the boon of letter writing.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Calender quotes contribute to awakening :)
THE END OF THE WORLD! Or the beginning. Hm"
Rather close to my heart.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Saturday, January 8, 2011
The Bluebird of Happiness is Near
Today was amazing, though I'd be rather hard pressed to give you individual examples of what made today lovely.
I went sledding by myself, with short-blonde-dude, and a couple of times with the little princess.
Maybe I'm just happy, because I can't think of much else, except that I watched an HP VII part two teaser, made me happy and hyperventilitive at the same time :)
I guess I'm just happy :D
I went sledding by myself, with short-blonde-dude, and a couple of times with the little princess.
Maybe I'm just happy, because I can't think of much else, except that I watched an HP VII part two teaser, made me happy and hyperventilitive at the same time :)
I guess I'm just happy :D
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Symbolism
I crouch by the lakeside. The sky is blue, like a vast and unimaginable bluebird. Fluffy clouds scud across the underbelly of the world like giant and perfect white down. The colors of blue and white reflect upon the water, making it a mottled and tranquil blue-black.
I extend a finger, intending to make a ripple upon the surface. I hope to cause many other ripples along the lakeside, but as my ripples die away, I am disappointed.
I am all alone.
I wish to tumble into the lonely and inviting water, never to return.
I extend a finger, intending to make a ripple upon the surface. I hope to cause many other ripples along the lakeside, but as my ripples die away, I am disappointed.
I am all alone.
I wish to tumble into the lonely and inviting water, never to return.
A poem about a photo I saw in the Orion.
Lace covered tables and chairs,
representing the lost of the world,
never to be used again.
Covered in white,
like swiftly fallen, sparse snow.
Delicate as a child's hands,
intricate as a garden spider's web.
Lonely and waiting for company,
wanting for weight,
a solitary tree-stump waiting for it's boy.
The boy will never return to this world.
(And yes, the last two lines are a reference to "The Giving Tree".)
representing the lost of the world,
never to be used again.
Covered in white,
like swiftly fallen, sparse snow.
Delicate as a child's hands,
intricate as a garden spider's web.
Lonely and waiting for company,
wanting for weight,
a solitary tree-stump waiting for it's boy.
The boy will never return to this world.
(And yes, the last two lines are a reference to "The Giving Tree".)
Monday, January 3, 2011
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Sneak peek of something I've been working on for a very long while. (can't remember what the inspiration was.)
The canvas he had found was dingy and old, he had once started halfheartedly painting a Chinese bowl with a daffodil design over a dark blue background a little toward the top corner of the left hand side, but he had never finished it.
How much of the devastating world news do we Not hear? How many people have been gunned down, drowned, flooded, or died of disease, hunger, or sickness today? How many factory workers, sex slaves, and struggling farmers have died because of how we live? How many houses have burned down, how many parents lost, how many children made homeless, or orphaned? Will we ever know, do we even Want to know? How many babies never born or stillborn? How many mentally challenged or disabled children aborted on a doctor's advice? Would the Rainman's parents have aborted him if they had been advised to?
What has our society created?
What has our society created?
Observation of mistakes
Wrote most of this Christ-mas day:
You know, in order to learn from your mistakes, you must be observant. You have to be able to notice where and how you went wrong in your actions, whether that action was a spat with your sister or a minor car crash last Saturday.
What led to your actions in either situation? Did you wake up in a bad mood, or was a bad mood created as the day progressed? Were you paying attention to your actions and thoughts in the time that led up to either situation?
Things like that can make a difference in your whole day. You must be able to remove yourself from the smaller situations that occurred earlier, before the car crash, or the fight. You must pay attention, to everything. As Mad Eye Moody (or his impersonator) said, "Constant Vigilance!"
You know, in order to learn from your mistakes, you must be observant. You have to be able to notice where and how you went wrong in your actions, whether that action was a spat with your sister or a minor car crash last Saturday.
What led to your actions in either situation? Did you wake up in a bad mood, or was a bad mood created as the day progressed? Were you paying attention to your actions and thoughts in the time that led up to either situation?
Things like that can make a difference in your whole day. You must be able to remove yourself from the smaller situations that occurred earlier, before the car crash, or the fight. You must pay attention, to everything. As Mad Eye Moody (or his impersonator) said, "Constant Vigilance!"
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
