The perfect weight of a brush in my hand. The alchemy of mixing a subtle, deep mystery-color. The buttery texture of wet paint on canvas. The chunk of a pestle on raw pigment. Here lives my lush mind-garden filled with dazzling colors, slashes of light – a landscape of mystifying complexity. It was always inside my soul to paint.
Can you sing the colors of the lilac’s perfume? Or reach the notes in the first blush of dawn? Or mimic the heartsick wail of a distant trombone? A singer might aim these arrows at the target and never hit the mark. But a musical journey is, nonetheless, nothing short of divine. I am exceedingly and eternally grateful for the gift of music.