Published on June 24, 2010
Sometimes when I paint I step into the greatest space of stillness.
Life melts away.
And I fill everything with color.
Sometimes when I’m there, I look to see it’s really a great field.
The same one I played in when I was a child.
Where my grandmother was always busy hanging clothes on the line.
Where you could hear the tomatoes growing in the garden.
I refuse to leave this space.
I’ll be like Frida Kahlo instead.
Where the paintbrush never leaves my hand.
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