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crazybitch
04-20-2013, 10:58 AM
So here is this blank canvas. I, the artist, with paintbrush in hand. I am as speechless as the infinite scroll of numbers before me. I watch the world around me falling through this unmistakeable hourglass called time, and I wonder if there is another possible answer than to paint. I've tried this and failed, always getting too excited in my dance that everything starts to blur.

God painted us into being, and yet once he breathed awareness into form we believed so full that we were our own masters. We made the same mistakes, we killed innocence and we starved our bodies of worth. In this moment, the only way to exceed the expectation of sorrow is to capture the one thing that a portrait cannot express, the shadow. Minutes, hours, days, months pass and I still stare at this blank canvas.

The shadow is the layer of the human's self, which surfaces when we least expect it. It tests us, ridicules us, chains and binds us, then frees us once we learn to capture and overcome the shadow. The shadow of who were were before we made a shadow of this earth. Yet can I trust this shadow to be a part of me when the sun rises, and sets, so the shadow rises and falls. Come home God, light-father, come home.

To capture a shadow upon a frame

I watch myself, a mere shadow on a canvas that light captured upon its frame. I wonder if I could create life like I could make shadows, I might be able to invent a cure of this madness. If there was an escape from the madness of design, I would say it is the hope in life that it cured the mind.