Updated: Jul 22
When I look at a painting, I get the feeling that for a moment, I can do no wrong. For a brief moment, I am relieved of being an active participator, cursed to bear the regret of the mistakes I've made. I am a spectator.
When you've lived a life being taught that every step you take is wrong, every word you said should have been rephrased, every improvement could've been improved. When your empathetic energy is exhausted by something so apathetic, the force that once pushed you forward, starts pushing you down. Because when you empathize with that the problem is that you exist, you realize that the only solution is to "solve" yourself.
When I look at a painting, my thoughts stop. I disappear in the artist's pursuit of perfection within the painting. It is a moment when I feel at ease, in my body and mind, because no one can tell me I should have done, thought, said or been differently. At last silence—
is appropriate.
Like a painting's existence enriches, for a moment I'm inspired to think that maybe sometimes being is enough to exist.
In a moment of active participation my consciousness is heightened by the captivity of admiration.
I am dissolved.