Paint!
According to Oxford is, "a colored substance which is spread over a surface and dries to leave a thin decorative or protective coating."
We can look at paint from multiple angles. Paint doesn't just center on the discourse around art, galleries and sophisticated point of views. Paint, as mundane as it seems, covers diverse topics, including our lives.
When we look at the word "Paint", just like every other time, the mind flashes with a picture. Could be the color on your room wall, or your favorite shade - the mind is forever active unless a person is dead. Even as you read "paint", your mind gives you an image. And with this post, I would leverage on the miracle that is "Your mind".
I want to paint a picture that is not the norm. A picture that we may have or have not settled to look at that. I want to talk about a canvas so broad it requires thick strokes of the brush. I want to use the splash and the mix of colors to tell a story. The story. Yours and mine.
Like I said above, the word paint is attributed to a lot of things; pictures, portraits, houses, walls...the list goes on and on. However, as cliché as it sounds, our lives are a burst of color. They flame and intertwine, like an abstract of sort, they produce effects that we see in our daily lives. The morning, the noon and the night; all different colors separated by a shade in time; just a tinge in lines.
However, those little things we do, every second, are pronounced on that thick and broad canvas. Like the genius we are, we weave and we make history with each brush stroke that is our actions. Our thoughts and beliefs conjugate to birth the product that is our actions.
However, sometimes, we just stare. This happens when we are presented with a blank page. A clean slate because we have made so much of a mess of the colors, our canvas is a wreck and almost unrecognizable. In search of a clean start, like the artiste who just found his muse, we go on that journey of purpose.
What are my colors? What makes me come alive?
This has been a conundrum for generations. Looking for the right colors. We want the bright, the good and the best. So, we try to blend them all, to give life to all the strokes we make on that canvas. But...as we go on, we begin to realize, just like the artiste, that we may have to start over; redo wrongs and fix mistakes. Even the Creator realized, with regret, that his canvas had taken a messy turn.
When we find that burst again, that Yellow, Magenta, Fuchsia, the whole variables of summer that makes us bounce, we also realize that life is not complete without a few storms. The rain makes us appreciate the sun and so we have those angry days like the color red; frustrated and tired of the world and its antics, and the burst of green which is not always a good thing as we can get sick to our stomachs by people, by actions; betrayal, selfishness, war - it is the process with which we are made stronger, for the two will fuse and we get to appreciate little moments of joy.
Remember my earlier words? I said I would leverage on the power of your mind to create pictures. To see this thing we call life. For when we lift that brush, facing that canvas with a blank head and no idea if the colors are right, the drips staining the floor as we quiver with fear at what would happen should we repeat our mistakes, we are transported back to the past and given a vision of the future. The truth is...it is all a lie.
For the person holding that brush now, is not the same person who walked away from their carefully created canvas; from all they know! So, as we take that brush, we remember that even the brave have fears. But as broad as that canvas is, we only get to have one. That is when we look over our shoulders and realize that the canvas was never in sections. Your past stares back at you and with each line, stroke, paint, you get a map of how far you have come.
You realize that with each action, you were only getting closer to that moment. That moment when you drew the line! You look closer and see that line weathered by storms and ugly moments. You see with new insight that the colors as they drip onto the concrete floor, are yours to choose. You get to decide.
And so, with trembling hands and shaky legs, you make contact with your new brush strokes. However, remember that you went in search of colors? Yes. As you continue, your strokes become more confident, your gait powerful and your hand experienced. Then people stop and stare. From that messy, chaotic piece, they watch you bloom and transform like a butterfly, into a genius who knows exactly what they want.
Then when you look over your shoulder again, you don't see a mess. You see lives that you have touched; they stopped to stare and never left. They picked up their brushes too and with a backbone of steel - for they have watched you soar - draw their line!
And your hands tremble and your eyes tear up, for nothing but the reason that you watch these people dedicatedly working and making mistakes and learning while gazing at your canvas. You realize then, that you have been elevated and you must climb down that ladder to meet with these people.
Now, let me take you back a little. Remember that burst of colors? It happens right there. You find purpose. When you look up once more, your canvas now seems bigger than you, thicker but you don't shake or tremble like the person you were before. No.
You laugh and you smile, your eyes blazing because the size of the world or the mess of your life no longer has power over you. The ladder grows and with your paint brush, you follow.
One step at a time, one stroke at a time, you paint the skies.
This is my response to the Dreem-WOTW S3 R2. If you liked it, let me know in the comments😊
© September 2023, deraaa || All rights reserved
Images are mine. Thumbnail designed on Canva Pro.
