Color me yellow,
If you see the bellows turn mellow.
Color me red,
If you see anger and is not afraid.
Color me blue,
If you see a solemn soul that is true.
Color me beautiful,
If you can take all yellow, red and blue.
Painting.
I am but a painted being,
Insignificant
Are my feelings.
Fortunate,
On this canvas I’m living.
No one knows what I’m truly seeing.
On the walls I’ll be hanging,
I blend in well with your surrounding.
I am but just a painting,
I can’t be with you where you’re going.
Intended.
Any form of writing is an expression.
Just like how painting,
Singing,
Drawing,
Acting
Are also forms of expression.
Each form of expressions requires the performer to be put into the mind or emotion in order to ideally showcase it.
And that meant the performer itself will try their best to show an emotion as real as possible, as its intention is to be relatable. And in most times that doesn’t mean it’s actually true to what’s happening to their real life. Some of them spend time to ‘learn’ what it actually feels like. Honestly, even if someone do experience a degree of that thought or emotion, I don’t think it’s fair to take something out of intended context.
Would you go to Leonardo DiCaprio and ask how was his affair with Daisy?
Can Oasis tell who Sally is and why she can wait?
And some of these can be valuable memories or a hidden emotion of the composer. So even if there’s a Sally, I don’t think he wants to tell you. Maybe we should just appreciate that these artists/artistes are sharing a part of them or their minds with us. Not be making irrelevant personal assumptions to it, when you do not even know that person well.
It’s ridiculous sometimes, the things art creators have to go through.
Irate.
Small portrait it is,
Takes me a week.
It pains my wrist,
To finish a tweak.
She kept my brushes,
Obsessed with organisation.
Armed with kindness,
And the best intentions.
But artists hate it,
When their tools are kept,
It is symbolic,
Their inspiration trapped in a shed.
Intricate.
Sometimes I think the only reason I would still pursue love is that I believe ultimately, life should be shared. We gain knowledge and experience that translates to wisdom, emotionally, intellectually or spiritually. And, all of these will mean nothing if they’re not shared. Either with the world like Steve Jobs did; or like the one whom we’ll never know about that shared all of it with their other half. This is, to me, art in its most noble form. Everything you know, communicated, be it in a piece of advice, a comment or an action. And Steve Jobs, for example, gave us his version of art.
killgwen 