barefooted :: painted one {191-199}

{via pinterest}

there are times when i feel like my life is a painting. strokes on a canvas, some soft and some harsh. like standing back as i watch the artist compose the piece in front of my eyes, unable to see the final product until i touch the shoulder of the concentrating painter, and ask

show me what you see. 

this has been a brushstroke canvas week for me. i've felt peace and war, even at the same time, pressing me inside and outside. this has been a week full of laughter, oh, so much laughter until my eyes streamed and my sides ached for mirth. 

and then there were the moments where the floor and i were companions, fingers curled to my palms as tears coursed their way down my cheeks in unison with the silent sobs where no voice could give way to the

why // why // why?

this is why i love my God. because there was always joy. always eucharisteo found in the midst of the sobs. because of Him. this grace, this promise. 

• 191. His grace which is sufficient. His promises which are never returned void. 

{via pinterest}

• 192. music. that kind that makes you leap and spin and toss your hair until you drown in melody

• 193. blackberry merlot and the company that comes alongside as you sip and laugh and confide and plan and grieve and exchange those knowing looks. 

• 194. raspberry tea and Adele beside the flickering Christmas tree

• 195. this expectation, this anticipation for this coming Salvation. 

• 196. counting down the days like an eager child. we're down to twenty now.

• 197. strawberry Nerds and a tow-headed lad of barely six years giggling, "you're a silly nerd, sister!"

• 198. these brothers and sisters, not by blood but by love.

• 199. the picture of freedom in a day-old baby girl, the symbol of freedom between two freed ones. even her name echos with life: ariadne grace {very holy one with grace}

i have much. i am flooded with His brushstrokes, from head to toe with the soul unforgotten. 

oh, my God holds me close. His arms are sanctuary, His blood is life. 

i cannot rise from this bare-footed hallowed ground. this burning bush of surrender and gratitude and sacred.

barefooted and paint-streaked at His feet. 

{linking with Ann, sharing my gifts as they grow}

painted words

sometimes i wonder what it would be like to live as a painter.

would it be easier than this thing of creating images with words?

i would have colours then, bright and pale and every shade and hue with which to fill an empty space with brightness.

i would have strokes, broad or thin, richly pattered or intricately traced.

i would have something tangible to show the world.

a canvas that i can hold up, like a child holding up a finger-painting,

see? 

this is what my soul sees...

it's hard to paint with words when i want them to read my soul in just the way i meant it, without any misunderstanding. 

i want them to read my painted words, see them in the way i intended from the beginning. 

i wish i could write in paints, that my words would flow from keyboard to screen in a swirling watercolour rush of blues and greens. 

emotion for tone, passion for hues. 

a living paintbrush that could show the world my soul without confusion. 

but i live with words. i'm a writer.

it's day 2 of NaNoWriMo. seven thousand words swirl with life and fire and so much colour that it threatens to overflow and spatter the ground with life abundant. 

so i see i'm finding the center, this middle ground between paint and ink. i'm finding the way to make sparks fly from keyboard ticks. i'm learning to let the colours arc outward.

to paint my soul with words so others can look and see

see what my soul sees

in black and white

and technicolour. 

{linking today with dear emily and others for this moment of imperfection}

painted

{via pintrest}

every artist's tools have a story.

look at the old pen and inkpot, stained with fingermarks and blots of this novel and that world's creation. there was life born there.

the pointe shoes, tattered toes and dirt-marred satin. what leaps speak novels in these wrecked canvases?

and then there are the paintbrushes. 

flecked with paint and primer and so many colours that the layers have become one upon another.

oh, what mysteries of tender caresses and angry slashes are found here amid the horsehair and bamboo?

see this is what i desire. 

no more sketching with my charcoal that can be

 rubbed 

and washed 

and faded down 

to nothing with just a bit of pressure. 

i want raw. 

no more scrapping my brush across the surface of the palate, just covering the tip.

sleeves rolled up, arms plunged in up to the elbow. 

{via pintrest}

blue dripping to a puddle on the floor.

a single strand of hair brushed across a forehead results in a streak

of yellow 

and purple 

and red 

and aqua. 

skin once bare made perfect. 

no more surface living. no more sketches of me. no more maybe this or perhaps that. 

i want deep. down to the bottom where the richness resides. 

this is what it is to be used for glory. 

for so much beauty, for all this majesty. 

take me deeper. 

i ache for You to hold me.

melt me. 

mold me.

fill me. 

use me.

{linking up with my beautiful sisterhood. this place of real.}

Watercolour

After a thousand watercolors you will find you have fallen in love with paper and paint. ~Rex Brandt

I wish I was more of an artist.

I took four years of Artistics in high school, but even that was barely enough to scratch the surface of the things I wish I knew.

My favourite medium is watercolour.

It's more than just a damp horsehair brush rubbed against the caked colour pallets.

It's something deeper...richer...more powerful.

There's more to a watercolour painting than first meets the eye.

The colours run, blend, combining together into something far more than the artist could ever have originally anticipated.

That's why my heart races at the sight of a watercolour canvas. You can't always plan ahead. You can't always see the future.

The colours have lives of their own, dancing and flooding together...as if they too had minds and hearts and souls.

I'm blessed to have a watercolour life.

A life that is more than what I can see at first glace...beautifully composed by the most incredibly talented Artist this world has ever known.

I'm a canvas.

Cover me in watercolour.

I really think that everyone should have watercolors, magnetic poetry, and a harmonica. ~The Perks of Being a Wallflower

Théâtre

"Would it be too childish of me to say: 'I want?'; but I do want: theater, light, color, paintings, wine, and wonder..." ~Sylvia Path

I adore the theater.

Those closest to me know that the quickest way to my heart is through the thin cardboard of a ticket stub and the gentle kiss of rose petals against my nose.

I am more than passionate about the arts in general...but there is something so exquisite and breathtaking about the theater. From the time I was twelve years old, it has woven an unbreakable spell over my heart that has yet to break, and I pray it never will.

I love curling into a plush velvet seat, playbill in one hand, my heart pounding with anticipation and excitement as I wait to see what wonders lurk behind the curtains.

I love the soaring orchestra, the heady applause, and the moments that draw me to hysterical laughter and broken-hearted tears in the blink of an eye.

But there is a place in the theater I love more than any other.

Tucked away from the eyes of the public, hidden away behind thick side curtains.

That is my world.

Backstage is the palace to my princess wishes, the closest I will ever get to Narnia.

It's the place where all the magic happens, where adrenaline joins the blood to pump in my veins, and where the smell of sweat and excitement mingle to become intoxicating.

In this corner, my dreams have come to life. I have been to Neverland, stepped into the pages of fairy tales, and seen countless magical moments played out before my eyes.

Last night, I tidied my corner and left it in darkness.

For three months, I will wait and hope and dream...overcome with anticipation...

...before the curtain opens, and the magic comes to life again.