Rarely, if ever, do I add to an already published post. But I feel the need. Thus, I will move in that direction.
I write as an impressionist painter paints: leaving room for interpretation. I do this less for myself and more for the reader. Through my words, I want to stir what rests inside of them, not what rests inside of me. Where I paint a sunset, they may see a sunrise. And this is how I want it to be.
Someone commented on my post from this morning; fearing they prompted the elusive feelings I couldn’t quite describe. They did. But not in the way they fear. Just as two people can view the same painting and see two different things, the same is true of our perception of people.
Sometimes there are paintings that make only one person smile upon being viewed. And that person, doing the viewing, can’t fathom why the rest of the world does not clamor to put such art upon their wall. But sometimes, there are those of us who instead of holding on tight, run from what we desire. I do this. I am doing it now. Not because I don’t want to stand forever and view this painting, but because I fear one day the painting will be gone. Easier to push it away now, with my own hand, than to watch it leave one day using its own.
If I were to put words to my emotions from earlier, they are of sadness. Because I have recently viewed such a pretty painting. Even if the painting doesn’t want to be viewed by me, I will still view it in the same pleasant light. I am sad – because I know my nature, and that is to honor the wishes of another, even if they are not that of my own. My wish is that the painting will stay, so I can view it again.
Consider my ambiguous feelings now defined, and pressed into paper.