I place the paint brush on the palette and I breathe. The adrenaline of completion overcomes me. I blink. When my eyes open, I can see nothing clearly. I look around, everything is distorted and blurred. I flex my face and blink a dozen more times, nothing changes. Each blink is shocking, almost painful, because I realize that I exchanged blinking for the dance of brush strokes. Artist eyes.
I bring my espresso up to my face. I inhale the aroma, my eyes shut again. A long pause. Then world around me is a million blurred dashes. The only thing I see clearly is my painting. I get lost in the colors, the shadows, and every nook. A presence surges through me, I am still. The greatest force, the most astonishing beauty, the one from whom creativity flows. Here with me.
This is how I worship.
Every stroke, a praise.
Every smudge, a prayer.
This is how I connect.
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This place I’ve painted out of my heart, translated onto canvas, I’m certain that I’ll see it one day. And when I stand on the cliff, adorned with wild flowers and look out upon the sun rising over the speckled see, I’ll know.
Buy it here.
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