Like every other day, for the past few months, my mind had been engaged in creating and recreating a dream. It’s like Picasso painting a waterfall with oil on canvas. I have sketched and sketched and sketched, erasing, outlining and superimposing features, layers of colors, trying to maintain the original scenery in my mind yet compromising here and there in order to see the painting materialize.
It’s like painting the wind. You will never know. Is it white or blue, or a blur of what color?
Some might find that rhetoric, but who is the judge of these things? The wind is the most colorful thing that has no color. You practically don’t know of what color it’s made from, transparent as glass, it’s a combination of every color you could ever imagine. They all flow in the wind. If you were to embalm a portion of it on paper or screen what will you see?
Milky white blur of blue?
So is my dream. A colorful ‘colorlessness’ that defies even my logic; no face, just my wind swirling and twirling everywhere there is a form of matter or life…leaving its mark behind, saying nothing yet very loud, carrying the voice of others across and beyond; giving voice to the voiceless, the smile, the smile that won’t fade, not with time, no, not with age.
And here I labour, with every muscle of mind and soul and spirit, trying to give birth to an idea on screen. Of course, I have heard the normal nay and ‘yaay’, I have seen the shaking of the head, not a few, and the approval nods, the other idea approach, the stick to the plan talkers….I have seen them all.
So, I come to conclude like Daniel did by the rivers in Babylon, only I could see the vision, and only I could paint it and give it life before anyone else can appreciate it.
A few more stroke of the brush maybe and we will know for sure what it is.
Image credit; autumn leaves https://fineartamerica.com/featured/autumn-wind-ann-marie-bone.html