I am trying to journal more in the physical sense. Thoughts to pen onto paper – even if its several minutes a day. I seek this solitude with my mind like a chamber of dreams you unlock & explore.
I am spending more time devouring books, inhaling their words and exhaling my dreams. This year I want to accomplish sixty, it isn’t the number that counts but the transportation of a book, or the cathartic experiences you eschew. I simply wish to dedicate more time involved with literature
I am trying to feel more and expect less in the realm of art. Not focusing on the endpoint – rather absorbing what I am doing: lost in the blending and formation of colors, saturation, & waking up early to revel in the light of the morning; how kind it is for painting.
Still I dream, and when I do I dream of cabins and candlelight, picking fruit off the vine – fingertips bruised with the juices of fruits; the same hues I try to capture. No images can compare to the sensation of physical experience. Yet it fuels creation in our search to capture our dreams and memories. The stories that exist inside our head that we wish to convey, pass down, recreate.