I CAN REMEMBER BEING AN INTUITIVE PAINTER. BUT MY CANVAS PANELS NEVER SPOKE TO ME! 😀
White softness, submissive and complying, sits before me with its back against the easel and asks me, “Do you see me?”
“Huh?”, I ask, my eyes returning to focus on the perfect edges of the paper.
“Do you see me?”, it asks again, quieter this time. Much quieter.
“No”, I say and run my index finger over my eyebrow.
How could I? I’m an artist after all. I’m supposed to see things on the paper. The paper alone means nothing to me. It hides behind colour in near perfect submission. It lays no demands for the focus of a trained eye or the sweet caress of a surrendering hand. It wears whatever I give it and flaunts it in absolute stillness. Why would I ever see it?
But today, I’m forced to. Today, I must surrender my title and see nothing. I must do so because the only way to…
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