Painting
The past can consume us, it can devour us, it can drink us up and get drunk, lose ourselves down the back of the sofa with the fluff and a 5p coin.
But it is us. Every moment - every tick of the clock, every click of a key opening a lock, every clack of feet walking down a street. These moments make us who we are. The things we’ve seen, the people we have been, the jobs done and loves lost. A half finished painting slowly being etched out across the fabric of time by the thin sharp point of now.
Most of it will be hardly noticed – the casual throw of the coat across the chair will be forgotten even by us but it will still be there. A unique moment drawn forever as reality.
One day it will be finished – static and constant, never changing as eternity simply fails to end.
But until then I am not even half done and the white canvass stretches ahead...
Can’t think of a punch line though.
But it is us. Every moment - every tick of the clock, every click of a key opening a lock, every clack of feet walking down a street. These moments make us who we are. The things we’ve seen, the people we have been, the jobs done and loves lost. A half finished painting slowly being etched out across the fabric of time by the thin sharp point of now.
Most of it will be hardly noticed – the casual throw of the coat across the chair will be forgotten even by us but it will still be there. A unique moment drawn forever as reality.
One day it will be finished – static and constant, never changing as eternity simply fails to end.
But until then I am not even half done and the white canvass stretches ahead...
Can’t think of a punch line though.
posted by h at
12:26 am
3 Comments:
...but sometimes I wish that my pallet held more than just various shades of black. I'd dip a brush into colors of joy--oh if only a brush did I lack.
By
Latigo Flint, at 7:52 am
An old Altzeimers patient at the brink of death, the past is the blank canvass, only the future is certain.
By
bloggin the Question, at 10:08 am
Yesterday is but a quick study sketch for the ultimate masterpiece of The Eternal Now. Tomorrow guides our strokes with purpose, and colours our palette liberally with the hope that somewhere, amongst the shapes and lines that we arrange with such delicate care, there is meaning to be found.
That was a bit heavy. I think I will sit down for a bit...maybe have a bowl of cereal.
By
Me:The Sequel, at 4:46 pm
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