musings

today I picked up my own brush. I swept aside the pastel pencils that once colored in the lines, and I tossed away the rule books whose maxims chained me to black and white sketches of a life that I hadn’t lived.


the first stroke across that great white canvas was pure exhilaration. the red paint splattered my bare arms and brushed my nose like freckles from a summer’s afternoon sun.


the second was heart wrenching, unadulterated adventure. my eyes could only watch in awe as my hands moved a rhythm all their own, and I couldn’t help but wonder how I’d missed this all along.


the third stroke was paradise for the soul. in that moment of release, my brush dancing in its newfound freedom, I heard the sound of my breath and knew that my mind was blissfully still.


when I gazed upon my work in all its chaotic glory and even at my paint splattered hands, I did not miss the familiarity of my beloved pencils. my art had begun to look a lot less like fairytales and a lot more like life.