Sunday, August 5, 2012

unused [pen and ink on paper]

     Coming home to a space that is clear of disorder can free us from that mental anguish and subtle disgust due to the visual pollution that surround us. You want to restore, organize and embody that simplicity of a good life, a well-lived life, an adult life. There was a time; my creative life resembled a daffodil growing in between rocks longing for rain. I let the passion and expression slipped away while in my endless quest for that happy life. I hated anyone who has more creative time, more attention, more luck or more of that passion that I didn’t have. All that unused creativity made me feel empty like I may not be able to see colors again. I was surrounded by decay, the falling leaves, the brown grass and dead summer. And on one rare occasion, I found a book - One Hundred Flowers by Giorgia O‘Keeffe. It was almost spring awakening when everything comes back to life over again. Looking around I realized that my creativity turned into bitterness. Emptiness have taken over me. Slowly turning the pages of the book, I saw silence and suddenly I found my voice again.
     Silence is my loudest scream. I spent every single year of my life silently - creating. As an artist it’s all that I wanted and needed. And then I was drawing again.
     Drawing [and all the creative process] happens in silence. It’s the only time ideas, expression and passion pour in to satisfy the intention and purpose of art. Like a daffodil in between rocks, it needs water if not a summer rain.

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