My current goal to move from mediocrity to excellence is facing almost insurmountable opposition. The world wants me to remain blunt and unimaginative so that I can fit snuggly into the moulds that society provides me with. If I start to imagine, I hope, then I question, then I start to create. In creating, I have to deconstruct reality and reshape my belief.
So when I post on this blog, I try to peel off the hardening crusts of my mould. I have barely made any progress. I often paste my fears back onto the scratches I have made. I fall back in line. I go back to class. I look for a tried and tested method.
But when I get comfortable, the Angel returns to ask why I am not trying. 'You have so much rhythm!' The Angel says. Or that is me thinking again.
Now, I start over. I want to become an artist. I was always an artist. My creations are not paintings. They are my voice, contorted by struggles, failures and histories. A voice adorned with joys, hope and possibility. I dream again this week that I will exhibit my thoughts to a world that does not really care, but that is fascinated and challenged by the new. A new that is only new because it is told by a different voice. A new that is so old that it sounds new.
Labels: Angel, Art, Beauty, Dreaming, Failure, Fear, Paintings, Perseverance, Prose, Trying