For a long time, I have been unable to write. I would sit down and stare at paper or the screen for a long time with nothing to show for it. If I was lucky id jot down a sentence or small paragraph then end up erasing it. This took a toll on me, because sometimes writing helps keeps me sane. It helps slow down the cogs in my brain so I can breathe and think. But since I couldn’t write I felt a little uneasy. Ok, maybe a tad more uneasy.  I wasn’t settled, and I didn’t know what to do.

A few weeks ago, my friend gets in touch with me and asks me to go pick up a few sheets of cardboard she wasn’t using. I was really glad and quickly took her up on the offer. On getting there I she surprises me with brushes and a pack of artists charcoal! The grin on my face, I was so happy. I couldn’t wait to get home. a few months before another friend of mine gave me his easel. I had been planning on getting some canvas stretched but hadn’t quite gotten round to it.

I got home that day all giddy. The next day I got some embossed paper, the cardboard, my easel and pastels. And the rest is history. I didn’t even think about it. Sitting in the sun and writing in colour was the most moving experience for me. I had so much inside that I couldn’t get out, because I couldn’t explain it. Even words  failed me. Pastels came to my rescue. And the result , some peace of mind.

Some people will get it, some wont. Others will find their own meaning in my paintings.  These are bits of my heart, my story in colour.

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