Paying Attention

Friday, July 18, 2014

paying attention

When I started painting, my mundane daily transits transformed into search-and-grab Wonderment Operations. I was no longer just a weary graduate student traipsing to another class or meeting; I was an invited guest of honor in a sacred world.

In awe, I watched the wind slowly whittle a raging plume of leaves into a few dry crisps, the early light turn the edges of pine bark into croissant flesh, the palms become personalities as distinct as the people I loved. The closer I paid attention, the more I got to know the trees, see more than I ever imagined, more than I could ever possibly paint. I drank from these details like fountains and was filled.

Then, painting was instinct.

I’d return from classes or meetings and simply had to paint, or I’d burst.


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