Saturday, February 25, 2012

I Killed Vincent van Gogh, I Murdered Jackson Pollock, I kissed Pablo Picasso

I lied in bed. 5 o'clock., 6 o'clock, 7:12 am.

Two hours elapsed. I was contemplating what I was going to paint

The blankets blanketed me. The pillows were so soft

Asleep, awake, dream, think, feel, asleep, dream, think

Trying to think

Thinking is over rated

I should not think

I should dream

I should clear my mind. Time to get up, out of bed

Time to Play. Time to Paint

Time to Live Dreams.

The sky was clear blue. An invisible force was holding me up and pushing me around.

Like a kite I was suspended in the open air. The string held me. I danced around the sky.

A spectrum of colours filtered inside my mind.

Without noticing I was free. The string had vanished, all the walls had disappeared.

I embraced and enjoyed the moment. It was so pure.

The painting was painting itself. I was just a kite blowing around in the sky.

All my colours, all my feathers started to fall off my wings.

I was falling, so free, falling, falling into my canvas.

When the painting was finished. I was exhausted. All my feathers were gone.

I was naked, tender, birth, vulnerable, raw, open, a child.

The gentle wind and sunshine warmed my soul.

I sat on the wet grass in the park.

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