I've been reflecting recently. Oddly, this reflection isn't about me but the people around me; how they have changed; how they were; and how they will change. In the very beginning of all life (I believe) everyone is set on the 'right' paths. Some call it destiny, fate or the path of life but to me it's simply just a white canvas, untainted until you start 'living', painting. Slowly, a picture is painted as we all go living about our own lives. Some follow the traditional morals, others go follow impressionism whilst some lean towards abstract. no matter what type of picture we lead the whole painting is never finished until we leave the world. Thus, its constantly changing. Like all artists, mistakes are made; some deliberately and others by accident, but, nevertheless, they exist not matter how we try to hide it. Some can be fixed. Others are embedded into the painting, forever. Like any art, artists never meet the expectation of the observer. There's always something deeper; something different; something unique.
I played the observer, trying to read, interpret and predict the direction of these paintings. many have defied my expectations. As vibrant and pure as they began with distinct colours they began to blend and blur into shadows, the darker colours, tainted. Why, I would ask. How? but there was no obligation for the artist to answer my questions, after all, I was just an observer. I have no right to persuade and probe into the artist. It was their painting, their story to tell. I could only hope; hope that it would revert to the vibrant colours once again; hope that it would once again bring a smile to my face rather than tears.
Please find your way again.
