The Artist's Palette....The Brushstroke of a Sentient Being.....

The day finally comes to a close, as the stinging hot needles of water refresh and draw out the built up tensions, which are replaced with an energised lethargy, as the swirls of water disappear down the drain, while the cool cotton sheets and the heaviness of the duvet enhance the contrast.

The eyes droop and the mind becomes a blank slate, receptive to the incoming waves of sleep, as all becomes still and the body sinks into the depths, as the mind starts to play it's own movie, which has the most colourful painting with an assortment of characters in various poses on a field of verdant green, interspersed with sunflowers and the bluest azure sky.

The characters start to move and I ask myself how that is possible in a painting and then I see the brush coming into the painting and with a few deft movements, I am in the painting listening to the chatter of all the other people in a language that I have never heard and do not understand, while as I look around, the sunflowers start to grow larger and fill up the spaces of the field and the other people, one by one start to disappear, and the question that keeps on coming up is, how is this all possible.

It is if, by merely thinking this, I am able to see the painting through the artists eyes and as I look down, I feel the palette of vibrant colours that I hold onto, and the paintbrush is in the other hand, and I seem to be coming closer to the painting.


As the fresh paint on the canvas assails my nostrils and I feel the texture of paint underneath, my/the artists fingernails, and at the same time, I am looking at the artist from the painting, and suddenly I embrace both worlds, and as I count the hairs on his/my moustache, a thought springs forth and it seems that we are both frozen in this moment of him/me, looking at me/him and I decide to have some fun.

Closing my eyes and searching for some kind of muse to take this further, and as we both contemplate in the depths of our imagination and inner core, I start to think that it would amazing, if the field of sunflowers opened up to a phalanx of seven horses, and suddenly the paint brush starts to work along the canvas and there before me are the horses, which of course are riderless, and as I think that, there appears seven riders, and with that he/I stand back to gain the perspective.

Looking closer, it is evident that that the faces of the riders are missing and the thought occurs that to go through the process of life, one has to embrace all in one's path to proceed and then the faces are filled in and they are all of the same person, which is me in different stages of my life and as I realise this, the rider who most represents me at the current time, pulls ahead and then all becomes crystal clear.

At the exact moment that we realise, that we are the artists, and the only one's we can rely on, to change the painting in our lives, is ourselves.
It is up to all, to be able to be the artist and look at the canvas, from near and afar, and be, the object of the micro picture of ourselves engaging in the many scenes of our journey, on a day to day basis.

I awake feeling refreshed and as I drink my morning coffee, something catches my eye.
Examining my finger nails, I see the residue of paint left behind.