Something Meaningful

The truly creative mind in any field is no more than this: A human creature born abnormally, inhumanely sensitive. To them… a touch is a blow, a sound is a noise, a misfortune is a tragedy, a joy is an ecstasy, a friend is a lover, a lover is a god, and failure is death. Add to this cruelly delicate organism the overpowering necessity to create, create, create — so that without the creating of music or poetry or books or buildings or something of meaning, their very breath is cut off… They must create, must pour out creation. By some strange, unknown, inward urgency they are not really alive unless they are creating. - Pearl Buck

It is the heART in everyday living I long to express. My touch. My hugs. The little mundane necessities. The extraordinary in the ordinary. Sack lunches. I love yous. My hands. My feet. My body. My heart. My soul. My eyes ===== Seeing beauty and art everywhere I look. Sometimes all I have is a moment to snap a picture, a reminder of how the light was that day. Maybe a visual documentation of something or one I want to remember. I love forcing myself, though forcing is the wrong word, to see beyond what is facing me and seeing what is beyond. Even everyday objects hold echoes. It is such echoes I find that add a sort of vibration to my step. When I forget to do so I forget who I am. And forgetting who I am is when joy seems to take a vacation.

I am an artist, sensitive beyond measure. I might not be creating anything noteworthy currently. Okay, I am not. BUT the artist is waking up from her long and painful sleep. She is wiping the eye crust off. Brushing her teeth. Greeting herself in the mirror as she begins to greet me. I say hello and welcome back, sleeping beauty. It has been far too long.