Rules No Longer Apply

Healing is found within colors, within foundations. Inside, during “Snowmageddon,” alone within white walls among those colors, primary and secondary is a child, rediscovered, who knows instinctively how to play with paints and brushes, who knows and loves messy. She allows the colors to heal her as they find their way inside, nourishing her. She pushes paints around a canvas, mostly to see what will happen when she bumps turquoise into fuchsia, jams indigo against tangerine, splashing, smearing, drizzling, dripping. Time disappears. With art comes an old desire to travel and see new colors and textures, make new friends, taste new flavors. Opportunities arise for globetrotting in the name of art and friendships. Bursting, her biggest obstacle is in knowing what and when to focus her attention. She bounces from one room, one medium to another, painting, writing, puzzling, knitting, cooking. Seeing colors and mixtures, textures, shapes, and words afresh, instinctively choosing them, aligning them, letting them lead her back to who she once was. Remembering who I was before me; or perhaps seeing me before I, except after C. Rules no longer apply.