Maryam DiMauroReviving the dead artist
April 28th 2008 03:21
After a month of being thirty, I can honestly say I can see a little light in the tunnel.
I had a rough month, with a lot of hardships.
Something strange happened though. I used to have art permeating in my being, filling my soul.
Somehow, I always had something to write, something to paint. I would write on receipts, on notebooks, on crumpled up napkins. I would draw anything and everywhere.
But as the praticality of adulthood came through, and few people believed in my painting, and I became entrenched in procrastination I gave it up.
True, I still doodled in my notebooks and wrote in crooked spaces and kept them in napkins, but I didn't show them anymore. The negativity of everyone sort of sucked it out of me.
So, somehow right now I decided these past weeks that life is too short to live a dreary life just because people think you are not good enough! Part of what becoming thirty is owning up the fact that you are who you are and live with it!
So now I can paint and not offer anymore explanations.
End of story.
There are moments which stretch in time
I try to see the winds of yesterday etched in you face
But the lines are blurred
And I can no longer see the details behind what I used to know so well.
Here we are.
Two strangers staring into space
Here we are
There used to words overflowing, there used to be no secrets
But now they pour out like bleeding storms
There used to be open planes
It used to be my haven
I would lay in the green crooked marsh
And know I was safe.
But now
There is not anything to find
There is jagged rocks
Before I used to know things without saying
Now I say things without knowing
I don’t know what is to become of us
This is the last time which the rivers meet
Tomorrow we shall be Others
And Others will no longer fit into the broken reflection of Before
The blood might overflow
There is a way to find that which is lost
It lies behind seeing the magic of yesterday
Seeing the blurry images collide
If you are quiet
If you are still
If you try no to move too much
In between the land of fairies and wings
Where the branches stretch out for miles
There , I will always wait for you
There I shall have the strength to lift up my weakened fingers
There I might be able to smile
And maybe the butterflies will melt in the sun
And we shall dream
That we were once us
Instead of two strangers staring into a broken space.
I had a rough month, with a lot of hardships.
Something strange happened though. I used to have art permeating in my being, filling my soul.
Somehow, I always had something to write, something to paint. I would write on receipts, on notebooks, on crumpled up napkins. I would draw anything and everywhere.
But as the praticality of adulthood came through, and few people believed in my painting, and I became entrenched in procrastination I gave it up.
True, I still doodled in my notebooks and wrote in crooked spaces and kept them in napkins, but I didn't show them anymore. The negativity of everyone sort of sucked it out of me.
So now I can paint and not offer anymore explanations.
End of story.
There are moments which stretch in time
I try to see the winds of yesterday etched in you face
But the lines are blurred
And I can no longer see the details behind what I used to know so well.
Here we are.
Two strangers staring into space
Here we are
There used to words overflowing, there used to be no secrets
But now they pour out like bleeding storms
There used to be open planes
It used to be my haven
And know I was safe.
But now
There is not anything to find
There is jagged rocks
Before I used to know things without saying
Now I say things without knowing
I don’t know what is to become of us
This is the last time which the rivers meet
Tomorrow we shall be Others
And Others will no longer fit into the broken reflection of Before
The blood might overflow
There is a way to find that which is lost
It lies behind seeing the magic of yesterday
Seeing the blurry images collide
If you are quiet
If you are still
If you try no to move too much
In between the land of fairies and wings
Where the branches stretch out for miles
There , I will always wait for you
There I shall have the strength to lift up my weakened fingers
There I might be able to smile
And maybe the butterflies will melt in the sun
And we shall dream
That we were once us
Instead of two strangers staring into a broken space.
| 49 |
| Vote |
Subscribe to this blog
