Something in the making while insomnia disables me from sleep; painting empties the mind of
worries that plague me …. #artTHERAPY
You can be pretty or handsome with flowing paint by a brush stroke.
Nobody needs to like it.
Just as nobody needs to like you.
As long as you do is all that matters?
Or does others approval or attention rock your boat?
As in generating a feeling of warmth when you can be yourself and allow yourself be the best version possible.
Wisdom dictates being realistic.
But do we want to take a critical look at ourselves?
Are we so caught up with visions of greatness we can’t see our own selves?
Or, are we too caught up with wanting more of everything that we’re unable to sit back and enjoy what we already have?
Hyper critical of ourselves led from disappointment that we didn’t turn out as fantastic as we envisioned we’d be?
Taking inventory of life constantly doesn’t allow us to enjoy moments that fade into memory as we are always reaching for something. Never quite settled on what that is.
Stop and smell the roses? Is that no longer an objective? Are we too consumed with being beneath roses, buried in the ground?
At least there is painting or music or poetry or literature to escape to.
To quiet the mind from its rolling thoughts … bumpy memories that become unsettled wishes.