Words

I’m sure we’ve all come to points in our lives where words seemed insufficient. A friend’s loved one dies and saying “I’m sorry” or anything else doesn’t cover your sympathy. The last time that happened to me, I couldn’t bring myself to say anything because it was only words. I wanted more than words.

            Well, something has happened in my life—kind of—that any words I try to think of aren’t enough. I tried to draw, but my hand didn’t know what to do. I tried to paint. I paint kind of weird. I’m diddle-daddle or write words with the paint to give the canvas texture and meaning to me. The canvas I was painting on today has had at least 5 layers, not 6. I wrote and the colors looked pretty (light greens, blues, with graying hints. Eventually some purple), so I blended it into a background color. Then I tried to do some swirls of something. It meant nothing. Most of my paintings are abstract and more about color and texture than anything. I never really know what I’m doing, but this time I couldn’t find a way to turn it into how I’m feeling. I ended up writing more to use up the paint, then blending it again.

            Last night I tried to write a poem to post here about it all. Half of the lines sound stupid and the other half sound like I’m trying too hard or not hard enough or am thinking about clichés (I’m not sure if I’m avoiding them or falling into them). Yeah, I’m not going to share that attempt at a poem.

            Even now, I want to try to write about it, see if I can do better now. But at the same time, it’s not something I want to share. It’s a good thing, for the most part. Well, maybe it’s not. It scares me but gives me comfort. I guess it’s like seeing two sides of the same coin at once or like a Picasso painting. I’m not sure what to make out of it or what to do with it. All these feelings are drowning me while I’m flying.

            I suppose I should just try to find a branch to land on while I try to sort through it all. But here isn’t the branch. Sorry if you feel like today was just ramblings. I know it probably doesn’t make much sense to you. I’m just going to stick with it being a Picasso painting. Stare at it until it makes sense and something burns with truth inside of you.