I think I brought a bit of Greece back to Montreal, as it is Indian Summer for the second time! The colours of the trees have started to change. I hope to paint at least one watercolour of this annual splendour before Winter takes over with its ferocious cold and obscures all colours.....Later today: Three leaves tap-danced accross the street. I counted them. They danced in the wind which announced the end of Summer, I'm afraid. Maybe it will still be warm tomorrow?
Today, a box of my pastels fell on the floor in the studio. I did my best to recover them and use their colours on various papers, by pressing the papers to the floor. There were some interesting images formed, but nothing too remarkable. Mostly, they can be backgrounds, just as the Universe is a background for us.
My thoughts are for free as all things should be. The hounds of capitalism want to charge for everything. Can they sell emotion? Everyone wants happiness, not depression, even though it is a most human emotion. The idea of Happiness is is expensive because its' secret has not been divulged.
I was happy the day that I drew portraits of the children that I met in a field in Serbia, and the day when I drew a classmate's imaginary future husband in high-school. Art is for all, but not all can create. That is a fine line which critics are constantly vying to define. Does art by an adult resembling a child's qualify as art or does a child's art qualify? The best art is through honesty. The passage is through thorns. Just like in the ancient fairy tales.
There is a lot if writing here. Now I understand how to write a blog. One must be alone and have time. It is like writing in a diary with the possibility of being read by others. There are no secrets even though it feels secret, as though you are all alone. I must say that I admire those trying to
protect our privacy. Will they be able to evade the hordes of clean-cut, clear-eyed technocrats? They search the airports, the airwaves, the websites, the e-mails and probably the blogs.
There is so much more to write, and so much more to paint.
This whole time, an ideal of truth is trying to present itself; no matter by whom or by which means, it
wants to be seen.
Truth is the consort of accountability and consequence, therefore truth is always in fear. Only the
fearless know truth, and those are few. This is the rumination of an ordinary person who tries to make sense through colour, line, shapes and ideas.
Truth appeared to me most convincingly, years ago, on Hollyburn mountain! It was a self-explanatory state of awareness and freedom. It can probably be scientifically explained by oxygen levels in the brain and so forth. It took a lot of climbing to get there.