Like a canvas waiting to be painted, with the painter staring at the ticking clock, worried about running out of time, but ever anxious to pick up the paintbrush again. Unsure how. Unsure of the means, but ready for the painting to begin. Masterpiece detail or jackson polluck freedom, it did not matter. Created to paint. But didn't know how.
Thus is the state I am in.
Always in a waiting state, going all the while, and always glancing at the clock.
The quiet is coveted. The noise is everywhere, and the art is untouched. Such is life.
But I can't help but think, there must be another option. And I wonder how. where. and when will I grasp and not come up empty-handed. And I realize I'm not talking about painting anymore.
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