Literary: Dried Brushes

5/26/2018 08:56:00 PM Media Center 0 Comments

I lost my drive to paint.

And that's losing myself. I stopped using dozens of colors to make bright and spacious sceneries. I've lost the ability to imagine delightful things, to feel different textures, to find the balance and to create dynamic movements. The only picture in my mind is a neverending foggy field. I forgot to look at the universe, and now I am stuck in a black hole.

I failed to dream and wish. Dreaming involves closing my eyes and trying to imagine how life would be if I continued using my brushes. It means visualizing potential pieces I will create in the future. On the other hand, wishing involves forcing my mind to understand that I do want to bring colors to the plain and blank canvas. Because right now, my mind is physically and mentally addicted to being in the black hole. It's a trap, a very hard one to escape. The place keeps sucking all the energy left inside of me. Now, I need to hurry and find my own light to get out, as no one knows the intricate details on how I was pulled further down.

For me, the hardest part while struggling to escape from the black hole is that I lost sight of the world outside of it. I forgot what kind of artist I used to strive to be. I lost hope to find the connection to what was once my burning passion.

Sadly, all that’s left inside of me is a single brush stroke.

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