I don’t have to live under a gray sky if I don’t want to. I change the weather as easily as I change my mind. It’s a matter of knowing that what I see is only light bouncing on molecules of the atmosphere.
I know a thing or two about atmosphere, positively.
I make my weather. I make my luck. I draw things to me with my magnetic personality. I open up my arms and people come inside. It’s the way we’re wired. It’s the way we’re wound. Hold your arms out to a baby learning to walk and see what happens. Open arms is an easy thing. It comes naturally.
So does changing the weather.
Watercolors, a brush, and my imagination are the tools that befriend me, when my sky is dastardly, damning, deserving of Dante – not the kind of sky I need. Clear water in a cup reminds me that, when I close my eyes to what things might mean, I can make the colors clear. I can find blank canvas on which to paint a sky that I’d rather see – one that has room for me to move forward, one that has room for me to forgive and find a positive reality.
I paint with a vengeance over the darkness to remind that there’s a sun of promise behind that gray cloud cover.
Then I smile at the mess I made of the table around me.
−me strauss Letting me strauss