The world is our palette and into it we dip the brush of imagination. The canvas is the veil between light of who we are and the perception of tangible life. I see my beloved as a multi-hued silhouette – as much of she can be seen through the fabric of her canvas – and my image of what she imagines is a function of how she engages the palette of the tangible world. And I see her through my owe veil, between the light of who I am and the mediums onto which I gaze. There are layers of fabric between each and all of us… translucent, but not transparent. This is where the magic between beloved and Beloved happens… how much of the fabric can be lowered; what lights get through?
Can we separate artist and beholder, art and the artist, imagination and its artifact? It is said that art is the path on which we travel toward our greatest works. Love is our greatest work of art. And do we even need the external world in which to dip the brush of creativity. Within the soul of the beloved reader is a patient universe waiting to be written. Perhaps, this is not so different for visual art… Like woman, we are not created, we are creator.
Art is all that is incapable of being contained by the soul; that and more… the spilling over of a secret story, whereby its conclusion is preserved in the deep wells of the artist’s heart. Beauty, passion, compassion, desire, whatever conveys the aesthetic of pure bliss is what draws deepest from that well. This is why beauty and love are so interchangeable… we sail the oceans looking for both, yet they are the wind and the water for our vessel.
God wished to be known, so He created humankind – the painter wishes to be known, so she paints. Yes, “beauty really does seek its mirror.” Emerson says, “beauty is God’s handwriting.” Rumi asks, “who says words with my mouth, who looks out with my eyes.”
This is the art of love and the love of art.
Beauty and truth