Tonight I went to the "theater" as my mom might say, placing emphasis on the word theater with a certain dramatic flair and that is exactly what I saw tonight. Dramatic Flair. It was excellent, one of the best shows I've seen, rivaling some terrific performances in London. A play about being an artist, being a slave to one's art (or rather being a slave to the idea) Will this fit into a scene somewhere, is that cloud up there worthy of a painting, is the idea good enough to succeed, can I pull off the idea so that it may succeed.
Suck-seed. The seedling that sucks the marrow of the harborer's life and like a tree with many branches, once one seed becomes a fruit or flower, another is waiting to bloom.
In the end (of the play that is) the artist succumbs to too much pressure and love that is most certainly lost and kills himself.
I walk away from the play with the weight of ideas heavy on my mind. Are my ideas strong? Do I do them justice? Is there meaning to hold up the beauty? Am I successful? I think these things all the way home and sit down at my computer to work on my blog.... hmmmm....what are my ideas?
The play was great, but the whole time I kept looking at the painted backdrop, marveling at the beauty of the painting and the set, covered in cracked mud and stalks of dried grass placed everywhere.
How wonderful, how beautiful, cracked mud and dried grass, I had to hold back the urge to run my fingers over it, rub my face over it.
And the painting, an ocean caught in the turmoil of a storm with fragments of dried grass whorling through it. I wanted to become the seagull and drift into that painting.
Today there was a rainstorm and the lake was all churned up with big waves and now as I type I can hear their roar fighting against the gravelish sand and concrete blocks. And more than anything I want that for the rest of my life. Make paintings that I feel I can whorl through, spend time hearing waves, writing this blog, making art. My god what a gift to feel passion surging in you when you see something that is so beautiful that you have to stop and take a picture. Dear God, why doesn't this work pay more money?
Dear God, when will I fly?
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