for every time, i couldn’t word it, “it” slipped from me and word confined me and stifled me and “it-brush” didn’t have a problem with my choices. The brush, had texture, the brush had ears for every word I couldn’t translate from the other side of language, or what language? Or what symbol?
—->Who I am.
not in my dna nor my Q&A (but there, too).
not in where I live and who I know
or all the pulses I’ve felt now.
it’s not in one piece of art that I make, but in all the art that i haven’t made yet.
or how vulnerable I make myself to the “strangers” who seem to want to talk to me wherever I go. even when quiet time may be most appropriate for me. I say hi and try to be as friendly and welcoming and open as possible.
the rhythm of the drum 🥁
The wildness in me who refuses to be scheduled by others.
the me that is happy to connect with people and Happy to close my shutters and say “me time, or close friend time, or family time.”
the selfless “i” who employs much time figuring out what would be best for others (and that I be myself. And how can I know that without asking. And that I sleep soundly. And that the ways of the world and the business of things will never confine my spirit).
Ka Malana 🌅 2018
the painting is what it is. This piece I wrote felt more like spoken word. I hadn’t planned on posting daily to my blog, so I don’t know how long I will keep at this, but for now…
it is what it is
social media has been awkward. I started writing on this subject but still haven’t managed to communicate in a way that I can build on yet.
Oh – I forgot to add one of my favorite songs that came on while painting – here’s the live version!