I felt I needed to listen.
Sitting at the window in an unfolded wooden chair, I felt the cool morning air of a Brooklyn Sunday morning. And I smelled freedom from the breeze as it brushed my empty canvas and caressed my nostrils.
I felt my soul speaking to my hands as they chose each individual color. I heard them playing telephone, and watched as they intermingled. I reenacted their colorful conversation through a plethora of motions with half a dozen brushes.
I chose to agree with their unorthodox directions and allowed the canvas to share with me of all its visions. And I watched it evolve into what it was meant to become. I became aware of the portal — as it opened the window and showed me my soul.
By listening– really listening.