Started with a brush and a pen…ended with a lot of them
Ever since I could hold a pen in my hand my other hand was holding a paintbrush aswell. I think that ever since my eyes saw the blank paper and my hand created a life in the nothingness of it, I fell in love. The person who handed me this gift (metaphorically and not) was my grandfather. I believe he was pointing pens and brushes in my direction before I could even sit on my own. I thank him for that, because of that a strong bond grew larger with each sit on the lap and line on the paper.
I even have a picture he framed that I painted when I was two years old. He made the frame and he painted two fishes in the back of the picture (my zodiac sign is a Pisces). I will insert a picture of it in this post. He handed me that picture I painted when I was in my early teenage years I believe. Frankly I don’t remember when it was but I remember something far more important. I remember his words. Now just to point this out so that you can understand why this is a big thing for me. He was never a man of many words, he wasn’t very affectionate and he never complimented any of my works or anything in general. He was always pointing my flaws and sometimes telling me how to correct them but mostly letting me figure it out on my own, even If that meant an ongoing wave of mistakes. He just knew I would get it right eventually and that by myself I will learn in the most effective way. So I did.
( The picture, I drew this when I was two years old.)
When he handed me that picture he said: “From that moment on I knew you are going to be an excellent painter but also a messy one.” With the messy part I couldn’t agree more. I like to think that blood flowing through my veins is just a red paint. I imagine it flowing like it flows on the chosen canvas. I splat water on it then just put a tiny dot of paint in the splat of water and it just flows, effortlessly. I like to believe I was born to decorate this canvas, this paper, this word. Sign my name on it with pencils, brushes and words. I feel alive when I make my thoughts alive.
So what do I feel when I draw?
I feel waves of the ocean flowing in my entire body through my fingers onto the blank paper. I feel the summers breeze tickling my heart with each breath I take. I hear the sound of nature buzzing softly in my ears with each line on the canvas. The smell of juicy nectars in autumn fill my nostrils with every warm color my eye meets. I become one with what I create. I become my creation. The creation becomes my world…the world of mine is my creation. I never sign my paintings because I see my reflection in them. There is no need, they are my mirror.
And who do I see holding that mirror?
My grandfather. That is my signature.
What you imagine can be
Lots of love, Ellodie