Looking at her reminded me of the muddled paint left on unfinished canvases. A product in the works that was never quite finished.
Each glance you could interpret something different, just like her.
I never got to know who she truly was, but I’ve learned pieces within the few months I’ve had the pleasure of knowing her. Information I now carry like a badge, honoured she opened her soul to my blank page of a heart – now filled with scribbles to remember that her favourite colour is burgundy and that the fresh scent of winter air brings happiness to her.
Now I think of her each time I paint. Each time I hold my coffee in one hand, brush in the other. I can’t help but compare the hot coffee to her eyes, slightly bitter but brings warmth to my soul. Sometimes sweeter than expected, other times cold and unpleasant. Yet, something I never grow tired of.
She’s the inspiration behind my best work, as she has always brought out my full potential- no, she helped me find my full potential. She taught me that muddled paint can be beautiful, you just have to look a little harder – take some time to learn what it’s trying to say.
It’s not always positive, and that’s okay. Art isn’t created to make you happy – it’s created to make you feel something, anything. As long as you feel, it’s fulfilled it’s purpose.
Just like her. She never promised to bring me happiness – she never promised anything at all. But dear god, she’s made me feel.