I've craved the feeling of painting while at home. My weekly visits to my favorite pottery store aren't enough lately. Several years ago I bought a few of those adult coloring books that are supposed to reduce anxiety and increase concentration. They frustrated me. I was impatient. Didn't even like the metallic color pencils I purchased for the sake of the tin they came in.
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| Photo Credi (c)deyanira. |
I've changed this past year. Part of me is calm. Part of me is erratic. Part of me still cares. But, most of me is looking for colors I've never seen before. Colors
he'll never know or understand. It's these days I've turned to that which once caused me strife. See what I've done now? Added color to pages designed to entice and draw us in.
I've listened to my heart through music and
stumbled through the lyrical maze. Each time, the pain that once pulsated through my pores and streamed down my cheeks is harder to find.
I've turned to colors to amend my mood, give me perspective and a better life. Cheesy? Maybe. True? Definitely. Coloring these black and white pages and adding my color to them makes me happy. Happy, like a child. Happy, like I used to be - that innocent, kind of cheer. Do you remember that feeling? It was the sense of the present. Of being fully immersed in your mind and creation. Remember?
