While walking down the street in a search of self, I run into a wall. I recognized a mirror in a plasterboard and thus sat back in an awe .
Do you talk to me? I questioned the wall.
It was hard to acknowledge my eyeshot. Typically, I create more colorful images, but this pale rectangle was a mirror, and the mirrors never lie – like art of Tomas
Freedom of thoughts… The title unclosed the value of this photo painting, pictorially revealed the truth.
Fantasy bubbles are exploding; our handmade arts look like the meteoric attractions. They produce the pictorial splashes, yet who would care for the tatters? That’s why lots of pictures are rolling in the mud of the forgetfulness. The heart is crying for the survival and thus leads all those who have the ears to God’s Word. God dries our teardrop and gives the peace in Jesus Christ.
Our spiritual condition has an impact on our physical condition, and vice versa. What affects one aspect of our being also touches all the others. We are a whole person ~~It is Written
Even the best message is just the words, if it comes without the addressee. Therefore, I am questioning myself, what do I do? Why? And thus discover a meaning in my gazing through the window: the passersby dress the famous quotes for the strangers could revive the ages, put the wisdom to the irritating bustle outside. So my “Last Glimpse” got the meaning .
“More people would learn from their mistakes if they weren’t so busy denying them.” — Harold J. Smith
Eyes from underfoot …
I have learned to see myself in others – to respect the passersby. The sense of myself in everything I looked at taught me not litter up while walking down the street. Everything was OK, till now ,when I visualized myself in the picture of the pavement’s tesserae. The fairy eyes were gazing at me from the underfoot… While looking at this portrait I sensed myself as a paralytic : I stopped in fear to tread mud all over my face…
On the other hand, it was good to check where and how I was moving. Thus the artworks greatly expanded my spatial awareness – the creativity helped me to orient – my images created me and left in a bus station.
I reminded the wise Frank Stella’ saying, “I don’t like to say I have given my life to art. I prefer to say art has given me my life”