Where be Thou

I’ve been existing in a strange place this past fraction of time. Somewhere extracted from cold paradigms, city streets and country lanes. Gently nudged by something larger than myself into the stream of a refreshed life.
A life where notations have been waiting while hands are drawn elsewhere; into painting, moulding and companionship. Their absence though while missed is not mourned. They’ve always lingered on the edge of a tired mind.

Where be thou? The bell’s been rung - I’ve left it too long unanswered. I would respond, rather well. Transplanted - both physically and mentally. Frazzled - mainly psychologically (a feeling so synonymous it’s surprising I’m noting it). Working - but in joyful ways, there’s paint on my hands, my mind is weary but before me is the finished iteration of an idea that was once refracted somewhere in my head (whether that is a good thing or not I’ll allow you to decide). It’s readable, in that way personal language of imagery is; perhaps just to me, but that’s all I can truthfully aspire too (and it’s a miracle it’s that to be honest). I’m away and I’m home, all at once - what a mystical place to be.

Truth be told, I’ve found it difficult to talk about myself. I’d always attributed it to a lack of self-understanding but now perhaps I think it was more likely the opposite, more akin to not knowing what I wanted. The past years have born opportunity. I’ve seen large paintings of mine in auctions and on long established walls of city establishments. I’ve also seen paintings of mine in kitchen corners, or snuck into reading nooks next to kinder worlds. There’s something quietly special for me in that. There’s something hearty about seeing your work on another artist’s studio inspiration wall, or by the hall of a friend when you’re over for late and unexpected dinner. There’s something special about receiving the gratitude of a stranger or hearing the impression a lonely image from a field in Australia is having on the other side of the world. I know I take those small moments for-granted and for that, I am sorry.

I’ve had a strengthening curiosity place itself neatly across my creative work. A narrowing of interest, or more a concentration of interest. For so long I felt stretched between visions. Unsure and overcommitted.
Time brings focus, maturity in action. I’m not suggesting I’ve achieved anything like perfect focus or maturity, but I’ve arrived at a place where I can look back on the trail and see, where I can look back onto the impression of change. Slow and wanton though it be - it’s appreciated.

I know one day I’ll look back and parts of the path will be out of sight - tucked