A blank canvas stirs the rested soul into movement.
It reveals light and dark.
Crevices.
Interruptions.
The breath before the cry.
The questions I abandoned out of exhaustion.
Or the ones I feared had no answer.
Some thoughts belong to color.
To be explored without theory.
To let silence take the place of the words resting on the tip of the tongue.
Here, the body tells the truth —
through tension.
Through the weight of the stroke.
Brisk.
Heavy.
Still.
Relentless.
Gliding.
Here, emotion is not explained —
it is extracted.
It shocks and releases.
Awe without apology.
Because sometimes,
the only way through the mess
is a shape you didn’t know you were about to paint.
🕯️
