Some walls are built, not to keep anyone from coming in, but to see who cares enough to climb over them. It is really discomforting when, you finally realise that at the end of the day, the only person there for you, is yourself. No matter how much emotion and energy and sleep-ness nights you put in, no one but your inner self is ever truly there for you when you need someone the most.
With a pen in hand, the only real companion you have besides your conscious, is the blank page spread out in front of your drained eyes.
The marvelous curtain of silken sheet shyly unveils herself as she gets ready for her master performance. Tenderly she lets the maestro direct the flow of musical creativity unleash an explosion of colours onto her yet empty facade.
The primary colors first, creeping slowly onto the potential white, spreading their dazzling plumage as they hook onto the edges with might. The fierce secondary rapids come rushing in, taking the center stage. With a violent rage, the insignias swirl here and there, blindingly binding and dominating the grand opening.
Brilliant sparks fly as the magic erupts out of the concoction of creation, out of the deepest boundaries of the unknown imagination.
Next come the music notes to accompany the dazzling ballerinas in their breakthrough recital, eager to please and excite the silent audience. Inflicting powerful sensations among those caught up by chance to experience this feat.
Exhausted, yet strangely exhilarated by this artistry, the maker stands back to admire the now less vacant canvas. With a swooping motion here, the meaning's applied. With a gentle nudge there, the heart is pumping a slow yet beautiful story, as it rises out of the emerging psyche.
Not completely absolute, she leaves room for changes, because life in general, does not stay the same. A story ready to be interpreted whichever way the viewer may, she sits there the spotlight, ready to perform.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
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