For as long as I can remember, there have been two ways to do things: the right way and the easy way. I’m not used to doing things the right way to be completely honest, but I knew it was the only way to get this one done. Being an artist has its moments, but it also has its pains. Those are the two essential ingredients for good art in my opinion. Anyway, this canvas knew the stroke of my brush. As I stared at it I could almost feel it staring straight back. I had painted on it more than any other, but only with the strokes of a dry brush leaving no hints or traces of its path.
I’d painted on it the galaxies of my mind and I told it things no other had ever heard. It took everything I could throw at it, it was my best friend. It told me when to give up, when to start over, when to love something with passion and when to toss something away. Each blind swipe of the brush created supernovas of kingdoms in my mind, kingdoms of ideas and faults. I’d almost touched ink to it once before, almost trapped its beauty in a single frame to be viewed forever. The beauty would last, but the memory of everything I’d brushed into it would be gone.
There it sat, completely blank to any eye but my own. Was I ready to let it go? I had to paint it, there was no other way. Every artist has a masterpiece, and I knew mine needed to be done on this canvas. Could I recreate the beauty in it that it had sparked countless times inside my mind? What would happen if something went wrong? Could I live without it?
I touched the ink to the page. No turning back now...
Created: Jan 16, 2010Document Media