~ Broken ~
Molded and mended
Lost choreographed movements
Touched, torn, and tattered.
Another of my past days relived, this day I was working on the stone age man for the exhibit that day. For a brief moment I had to have fun, as I always do. I allow myself that , in those moments of brevity where ideas flutter in and out like tiny butterflies, zigzagging in beautiful flashes of color. Allow yourself to become blinded and enjoy that moment because they happen often and are or tend to be ignored in excess. Those are the little pieces of us that truly come alive in that moment of childlike wonderment and engagement with your surroundings. How do I stay bright eyed and bushytailed when thoughts are heavy, this would be one of the secrets. Allow yourself to be yourself and enjoy yourself in all of your beautiful crazy wonderment.
I often feel self conscious about all my hands have done and can do, My sister could always grow long beautiful nails an her hands would appear as silk. Mine I would think ugh Godzilla hands, reptile like ugly. they are also soft yet I still for some reason choose and find for me I love stirring and working with some cement, picking up an axe and learning how to chop wood, Work with acetones and things that are not so great for your hands maybe. But I love some of the things I create, manipulate and form.
That’s where I know my beauty lies. I have a different set of needs for my existence and yes I pamper my hands now and then with some lotions and oils etc. But my nails to this day still rip off when I work with clays or other materials I still bite them I still catch splinters and such but I know they are mine and they are what they are, my tools , my connection, and way to vocalize what I cannot express sometimes. They mold and move my paints and materials the way my heart conducts. Each flow of blood each signal sent to the extremities working in unison, as we are all mini orchestras composing our life’s work.