With a thunderous rapture, a cacophony of events smashing the brief second of silence, the brush moved with ease and effort. The canvas, A3 in size, is held tightly to the ground from a stand built to last, painting in whatever circumstances life decides to throw my way. With each movement, each moment of purpose, the picture forms and speaks to me.
I'm alone, on this mountain called life, viewing the valley ahead of me, being brave, fearless, vehement emotions beaming from every single slice of my skin. I'm here, right now, surrounded by the very nature that breathed life into my veins all those years previous. Nature, all around, feeding me, believing in me, wishing me to be all that I can or should be. The canvas, an expression of my mind’s eye, a place to create, to express, to clear my mind of the daily folly.
The rain starts to pour, covering the land all around me, washing away the weight of the world. Many words could have been spoken, in vain, in anger, but now all that can be heard is the ear splitting sound of said rain. Washing away everything, cleansing my soul, flattening the electric tension from the world. I'm trying to feel free, apart, separate from the daily toll and toil of life. I'm here.
The rain kept on thundering to the ground, but with each stroke, with each deciding line, a splash here, a moment there, I'm creating the forward view onto this canvas of mine. I'm in control, I'm aware of what I'm creating, no matter how many clouds or moments, it’s my story, it’s my picture drawn in my own special, eloquent and specific way.
I don’t care about the rain, I'm ignoring the spurious thunder, I'm ignorant to the cold forming over my shoulders, as this moment is all mine. Stepping back, just a step, I can see the colours, merging, being formed from the rain adding their own take on my creation. It doesn't matter, it’s hardly a sin, as outside forces often try to reform whatever you wish to take place. It’s a liveable circumstance, it’s how I expect things to be, but that picture, it’s still there, alive, part of me, no matter how it’s changed or maligned by life.
I close my eyes, imagining my picture, the lines, the expressions, painting my heart out, while taking in the ambiance all around me. It’s the moment, it’s right now, it’s how I envision the finished picture whilst also knowing that it might not quite be what I wanted. It’s okay, it’s fine, as life is creation. Life’s a revolution of time, set to come back again and again. Maybe I’ll repeat this moment, next week, with completely different emotions, moments, but that’s what life’s about. Experiencing, expressions, trying the unknown whilst chancing and changing the known.
Another splash of rain, another stroke from the brush, the seconds ticking as the clouds allow a peak towards the sunshine. The thunder is over, the rain is at a stand still, with a new moment waiting behind the wailing. I've painted my heart out, I've done what I came here to do, to experience. I'm awake, I'm open eyed, despite the clouds, the rain and thunderous shouting.
Maybe I'm the canvas, maybe my words are the paint, forming, creating, showing each of you what I, we, you, could be. Maybe we’re the brush, taking control of our destined picture. We’re capable, all acceptable to each other, within the limits of our own sized canvas of life. Maybe we’re the view ahead, controlled by a higher power that holds the very brush that creates our lives or, just maybe, we’re none of the above. Maybe we need not be defined. Maybe we’re an abstract creation.
Either way, no matter the picture, no matter how smudged we become, no matter how the conclusive picture reveals itself, at least we tried. It’s complete, the journey for today, the task of the moment and, above all, I have something to show for the very seconds spent on this journey. I know that I'm alive, I know that I can even place myself into the picture.
The whole world is your canvas, no matter the weather or location, all you need to do is close your eyes and… paint.