Creative Spirit

The universal artist is elusive to the ordinary—the happenings, the forms. How could it be otherwise, as the most creative of all? It must dwell in the extraordinary—the daredevil who risks it all; whose existence teeters on a perpetual precipice of now and never, everything and nothing. It must be discovered in the disciplined—where fickle energy is concentrated to a singular point rendering it that much more potent. It must thrive in solitude, where the earth’s heartbeat can be discerned, a dictator of the pace of life, and the observer of what it means to be free beyond the observed. The artist then must be one whose dealings are only with eternity, where all is lost and all becomes found.

On Creativity

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An Artist’s Truth

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What an artist brings to life

is not merely 

commonly perceived existence

But what they envision existence to be

A girl’s canvas conveying freedom

Her independence and solitude

depicted in the ferocity of a wolf

A girl wild in spirit

dreams to be free

The lens is a mirror, 

of perception and interpretation 

Never capturing divinity’s incorporeal revelation

but reinterpreting it 

in the limited scope of bounded dimensions

Art embodies hope

boundless potential

Which we all are

extraordinary, yet quintessential

Therein lies the true beauty

imagination that defies realms perceived,

existence beneath a painted sky

Is this not the essence of art? 

To be touched by beauty

and consequently transformed?

Or is art what is already within

seeking a form of expression

Much like how joy eludes us

In our efforts to preserve it?

A world to be crafted

through the beauty 

of a simple brush stroke

Hands that sculpt

an envisioned reality

And through the transformation,

become it

The greatest pleasure comes from relief 

from something that can no longer be held inside

That is the greatest truth of the artist