In Open Air: Part 1

It wouldn't matter if it was pouring rain, driving snow, or blistering heat. When the brush meets canvas, the sun itself would quail at the radiance put before it. The expression of the human soul is just that bright. And even so. When pen meets paper, reality itself would bend and break, drawn down into a yawning black abyss.

What black being would this be? None other than the same. Humanity holds within it a collective reservoir of stunning triumphs and broken dreams that we only vaguely draw upon during our lifetimes. And yet, at times, it's all too easy to open a window to this swirling morass, the collective legacy, memories, ideals, beliefs, successes, and ultimately, failures, of humankind.

The birds singing, the bright sunlight, the unending hum as thousands of cars and trucks rolled up and down the nearby highway; it was all an outside distraction. The Artist cared little for the world around her at this moment, for her entire reality was composed of a picture, hovering in her mind's eye. Instead of birds chirping, the colours and tones were her music, and each brush stroke was an ambiance akin to divinity.

Of course, these moments of bliss were just islands in an ever-increasing tide of chaos and stress.

Life itself was born into high aspirations marred by the harsh intrusions of reality and its henchmen, as if Lucifer himself was given leave to regularly rob heaven of its comforts. But, in these moments of suffering and defeat, there is a small measure of justice. Inspiration, the fickle and stormy some-times cohort of love itself, was born on a scorched battlefield between all the good and bad things in life. On that silver lining, all of art was born, and through it, humanity finds itself now at a crossroads.

Whether at the best of times or the worst of times, art flourishes. But as the Artist now demonstrates, pragmatism has struck art through the heart, and she feels the pain acutely.
Her brush hovers, poised mere hair-breadth from the canvas. But the motions do not come. The sounds of traffic intrude on her sublime existence.

Something is happening...