2006-07-25
In the Arms of the Angel
I think I've figured out what life should be like - hanging around the artrooms, blasting music and working on our babies. Between the amicable silence that binds our eighteen separate little worlds, we share occassional jokes, and occassional comic rendition of the playing song, and more-than-occassional snacks.
I cannot imagine a better mix of business and pleasure. Perhaps mix isn't even the word, because when I pick up the pencil, I know I can't tell the difference.
I know I will never take art as a profession, nor will the ability to brandish brushes and tell between 5 different brands of paint help me in any profession I will most likely be pursuing. The sacrifices I've made to sit for AEP lessons hardly whisper worth in this respect. So what on earth do I see in it?
I don't know.
Until yesterday, I never could see how I loved art. I never found the overwhelming passion, drowning obsession and intense madness one expects from the four great letters. Every so often, an intense emotion would visit, I'll grant, but one of sadness and frustration. Hardly love, hardly love.
But when I draw, I don't have to think of anything. I think of nothing.
And nothing, is love.
i need some distraction
oh, beautiful release,
memory seeps from my veins.
let me be empty
oh, weightless and maybe
i'll find some peace tonight.
nothing ever happens at 9:22 a.m.