One night, I couldn’t sleep. In my mind I was seeing a girl standing in an open room with no roof and two of the walls missing.
She was watching sunlit green hills below her, and, surprisingly, a starry night above.
The concrete walls behind her had marks from years of dirt and random and unintentional drawings.
I felt that she was at a crossroad, hesitant whether to stay or to continue into the open landscape. Maybe the world. She had to find courage.Courage to Continue.
In an attempt to find out more about her, I painted parts of what I saw in my mind. I came to know her a bit.
She is strong, she has the courage. Both to explore her own uncertainty, the doubt, but also to move forward.
I still don’t know who she is, what’s her story. I might need to paint more, to find the bits and pieces. It might sound strange, but I guess it’s kind of the same way writers find their story. They keep writing to reveal it, like archeologists keep digging. I must paint.
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While she was standing there, watching the sunlit green valley below, the noise from the city a bit further up the hills was nearly muted.
A dog barked in a smug nearby, throwing the sound back and forth between the walls, serving the dog the pleasure to sound twice its size, or more.
Two boys suddenly turned up, chasing a fantasy of superheroes and fire, while looking for a cat they’d seen before.
Then suddenly, like a clockworks agreement, the oldest took the youngest by hand, and they ran off. Running for the next chase. Running for it, – with their all.
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