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Day 3 - Space of Creation


Being the space of creation, being it all, allowing for all.
I’m a fast creator, creating at the speed of space. Paintings wanting to be painted. Getting several small canvasses out that allow me to pour the first spark, the ignition. Some require more detailed attention, at times hours, days of details with the tiny brush on the vast surface of a universe in creation. How to be all of that, the bold, the fast, the detail, the slow motion? The bold brush and the miniscule stroke of a tiny brush with a few thin hairs with paint?

Being the space of creation, being it all, allowing for all.

I’m a fast creator, creating at the speed of space. Paintings wanting to be painted. Getting several small canvasses out that allow me to pour the first spark, the ignition. Some require more detailed attention, at times hours, days of details with the tiny brush on the vast surface of a universe in creation. How to be all of that, the bold, the fast, the detail, the slow motion? The bold brush and the miniscule stroke of a tiny brush with a few thin hairs with paint?

The symphony unfolds in alternating rhythms, adagios, allegros, and lentos, sometimes smooth, sometimes rapidly changing. Non sensical dance of creation. Other paintings in space waiting for the final stroke, to have their turn and come into this world. Being with all of this, body tight, heart beating in anticipation. Who’s next? In an outburst of color, the brilliance of the reds, blues and yellows come together, it can hurt. Allowance for the dissonance of a moment that invites the next hue from the unknown. The intimate becoming visible to every eye. Out, out, out! Inside out, outside in. The guts of creation. Yeah, baby, it’s weird! Exposed space of being.

Being with one, while being with all the others. Expand out. Space. The Dance. Gliding. Hopping. Falling. Stretching. Eyes tired. Long nights. Little sleep. At the edge. Expand. Jump. Fly. Like the craziest jazz I’ve ever heard. Microtonal music in old cathedrals. Weaving together the threads into a new tapestry of contrasts, contradictions, being with it all. Intensity. Such intensity.

Body too tiny for that much? Expand. Move. Motion. Relief. The ease of the next stroke, and the next. Allowance for each element to be weird and individually striking while at the same time being the great gift for all the other weirds.

Together, they make the symphony. The softest voice of an angel together with the roaring sound of trumpets and gongs. They all dance in communion.

The creation that inspires those who see. Invites them to audacity and gentleness. Be it all. Space of Creation.
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