The Zen in the Art

I’ve spent a lot of time with a brush in my hand lately, which is a form of meditation for me. There is the line and the pressure of the stroke, the blend of the colors and breathe, brush, breathe. The thinking thunks out and the silver haze becomes bright, the flow of the paint becomes the flow of the time, of the space, of the moment erased. When I emerge from the empty the results always surprise me both on the board and in the brain. Connections that hovered in parking orbits for weeks or months or even years complete themselves and knowledge becomes understanding, birthing metaphors of image and phrase that spring unbidden from the nothing of my thoughts.

For me it must be enough to make the painting than to try to be a painter; it is all there is to it. I can only write as I can only fail at being a writer, I act as I cannot tolerate being an actor. Only when I teach am I teacher, only when I love am I lover, only when I eat am I an eater. I am always a being as long as I am, but being can be beyond being if you reconsider what being is.

Here is the river you can never enter twice, where the echo of a one-handed falling tree resonates and empty bowls of rice taste like chicken. The line is it’s own truth, color and curve explain themselves, composition contains its own justification. The brush, the paint and the board, the wrist, the hand, and the ghost in the eye, this is the all of it.

2 Responses to “The Zen in the Art”

  1. Nice. Thanks. I’ve been/am doing some work on prayer. This is a great example of it. Thanks for the help!

  2. […] for the Good Friday Kenny, every moment of life can be a prayer if we are living mindfully aware; I think that’s what guys like Jesus and Buddha were doing. They were perfectly egoless and […]

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