When She Paints

When she paints the world collapses perfectly into a softer place, curves and cushions and warmth and memories of childish laughter and common goals, of interwoven souls sharing life's happenings and cultivated minds that perceived and understood the world simultaneously.

Her smile is permanent and of a mothers caress, sparkling eyes radiating crystalline mists that land invisibly on the canvas and sketch the delicate lines and blend wonderfully the many colours. Her soul is a wide valley that I fly through on the wings of an enchanted tale, soaring to mystical heights of unity and plunging exhilaratingly in the voids of flowing rivers of her
love.

The body takes form as her beauty floods forth, voluptuous form either side of the tiny brush, a reciprocal perfection in the creation of a complete aesthetic. The head flowers from slender shoulders that roll and widen with the confident strokes, her hair a mythical maze of ebony flowing, growing forever into the sunlight that fills and warms the space behind her, golden
shards and blissful clouds along tomorrows dawn and the hope that spills from wheel of time.

When she paints I dissolve into the parts of myself that seem beaten by the present, unable to find footing in the fleeting normalites of today, a stillness and sanctuous place that hides from the ephemeral world and awakes only into beauty and grace, happiness and friendship. As the void is filled by her art I find my centre and observe the chaos as my perimeter, revolving
harmlessly around my core, planets of pain and confusion spinning away and leaving the passionate passivity of a mind at peace.

When she paints there is music in us and around us, playing softly the rhythms of our understanding and the perfect chords of our love as again I soar high into the magical mists of the canyons of her soul seeing families wander together on the green banks, children hand in hand in innocence and simplicity while generations of loving eyes watch as the passing of life
brings new life and wheel of time rolls harmoniously into a known and loved future.

Here is peace and wonder, the truth of existence and the ceasing of seeking as tomorrows possibilities blossom as today beliefs, as hope expands the space between the objects that now have lost their material necessity and fade as pink on pink into the joys of the moment. Here is where we exit as one, united in the creation, the cry of the caverns of our spirits to the
heights of creativity and freedom, of expression and self knowledge.

This is the pause between breaths, the silence of the clocks' ticks. This is the moment that is lived for the known unknown the seen unseen the gravitational centre of the love of all things. This is nature and dreams, peace and serenity in a world without decisions or conflicts without hatred
and ignorance and the blinding powers of prejudice.

This is art and I am her subject, anima and animus aggregated and appeased; the marriage of spirit and form into the revealing of truth and the destruction of division and the collapsing of negative constructions into positivity and passion. This is when she paints.

thegooddoctor 2004