“Your Song Is Not Yet Written” Acrylic paint on canvas. 80 x 80.4 cm. Unframed.
To me, beginning a painting brings both anticipation and uncertaintity–ideas brought to life on a canvas often turns out to be reflection of an inner self that you might not yet be aware of. I don’t know if this then becomes a call for inner peace, a moment without the stress, turmoil and pressure that seems to have become a part of life?
I tend to base my expectations on what’s to come on what’s already been. The adage that not knowing history is a sure way to repeat past mistakes does hold some common sense but it also holds some inherent limitations–leaving less room the for life’s little surprises. If the past was scary, an uncertain future can be even scarier for the unprepared–so while I’ve taken countless risks, I tend to think a lot in a vague hope to not repeat the stupidities of my past. That brings me to the theme attempted here, the tranquility found in quiet solitude, leaving our minds and hearts with the inner peace needed for contemplation–and preparation for what might be next.
Whether in trembling fear of what’s to come, relieved with an outcome or elated over the unexpected triumph—the sadness, relief, gratitude, or perhaps even a sense of newfound purpose—can be overwhelming.
In honest reflection and its accompanying turmoil, reality is unavoidable—bringing new clarity, allowing the mind to calmly race through memories and reflections, searching for meaning and understanding, maybe questioning your very direction in life.
Yet there’s solace in the quietness. Embracing this stillness opens the heart to the experience of life—bringing the peace needed to heal. Truly listening to the heart will reveal the strengths needed to get through life’s many challenges.
Your song is not yet written, be your own songwriter.