i painted today. it looks quite abstract but i liked the result.
i touched with my index finger, soft and timid.. i was afraid to spoil the pose and reality of the feelings. it was a very different experience to see my obscure feelings embodied into colors. red is not my color for most of the times. i like blue. as some other one do. after allowing red to conquer the very middle of everything with passion, love and compassion, the stage was ready for blue. blue was me, blue was the other. being one in blue, being single in blue, being blue and allowing red to sneak into us. was exciting and alarming. but i let it happen. and it happened with harmony. some of the red as well as blue, stayed pure. they were together but they were still being themselves without losing their identity. it was just like sharing a silence with some other blue.
then yellow arrived, the color of sorrow. reminding the fear arising from confusion and complexity. But still there the blue and red are, they are there to stand against all the grief expelling from yellow.
they all greeted white. they all deserved white. they were all pure and they were all innocent. no feeling could be found guilty for its existence. life goes on thanks to all feelings, all colors, and they are all hidden in white, in purity and in tranquility.
unfortunately there is no green. at least not yet. i dont know if there is any place for green. green the color of spring and the color of hope and may even be the color of promises. i dont know if there is any place for green. at least i dont know yet.
This was written in June 2012. Today, I am again in need of my paints. I have been keeping myself busy with some doodling and zentangling but it is not the same as touching the colors and let them spill on the canvas. I like painting with my fingers. My products are generally abstract, as abstract as they can be and very far from all of the norms and rules of art. But I like it. Isn't it the main reason of art? To express yourself as freely as possible without caring if people would understand or appreciate?
Sadly I burnt the painting I described above... in a small fireplace... in ireland. I don't regret. It was very liberating. But I am glad that I still have this text, which is less dense but still available. If I would look at that canvas right now, i would probably let my tears go. I don't like crying, unless it is for happiness. It has been a long while since I cried out of happiness.