cherishing our culture~the medium in which we grow
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Thursday, April 03, 2008
Writing about painting
Writing some words to try to describe this life of mARTha Painting.
Why write words?
They keep wanting to be there.
Seeking the heart of some kind of truth for myself.
Allowing this sense of a "bigger picture" to chart my course.
In each moment it is given to me what to do.
I embrace all that is free and true, let go of all else.
What does that mean?
It means painting what needs to be painted. To reach the way of that.
That point where the paint flows onto the canvas from realms of mystery.
As the person holding the brush, my report is true.
I have no words to describe where I go for that.
When playing my bamboo flute I can find find myself in a cave in the high mountains.
When really painting I am beyond a place.
Still I am standing here with my brush in one hand, paint rag in the other, watching that painting unfold.
Words get in the way.
Why write words?
They keep wanting to be there.
Seeking the heart of some kind of truth for myself.
Allowing this sense of a "bigger picture" to chart my course.
In each moment it is given to me what to do.
I embrace all that is free and true, let go of all else.
What does that mean?
It means painting what needs to be painted. To reach the way of that.
That point where the paint flows onto the canvas from realms of mystery.
As the person holding the brush, my report is true.
I have no words to describe where I go for that.
When playing my bamboo flute I can find find myself in a cave in the high mountains.
When really painting I am beyond a place.
Still I am standing here with my brush in one hand, paint rag in the other, watching that painting unfold.
Words get in the way.
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