I’ve found solace in painting, in the gentle rhythm of dipping the brush into colour and spreading it across the page. Then dunking it in water and watching the blue, pink, and green twirl and create a new colour entirely.
I love how painting doesn’t have a language. We can’t speak it or weave letters into patterns that reflect our lives. You just see different shapes and shades dance upon the page. And while you do it, your mind clears because here, you’re not on the hunt for unique metaphors and trying to stir magic from the mundane.
Your biggest task is keeping the colour within the lines. And hell, some of the best painters don’t even bother with that!
Painting lets you turn on music with lyrics (impossible with writing) and fall deeper into a hobby you don’t love or care for. Painting could be uprooted from my life tomorrow and all I’d feel is a tiny pinch, nothing compared to losing your biggest passion. One you’d be nothing without because life just wouldn’t make sense without it.
I think everyone needs a hobby they’re “meh” about. An oasis to throw yourself in when your passion project weighs you down like a great stone. I love painting because there are no expectations, there’s no ambition, and once you’re finished, that’s it. You throw it on a pile with all the other mediocre works.
And it’s that promise that keeps me afloat.
swirlygirl* 