Suspended in Time

Awesome Universe

I sit in the stillness of my sanctuary where images smudge beyond specific appearances. I feel the textures of your silence, a palette of colors activating the surface of my soul. Oh my beautiful universe! How I love you!

The structures of your canvas evoke the walls of my heart where you imprint symbols of beauty in and through me. From this innocence, I embrace your textures that are the rougher surfaces created by brush strokes of an ill-behaved humanity.

Oh, how I love the way you lift the paint of self-expression before it dries! I love the tactile sensations that spontaneously weave rich and multi-dimensional forms into a pictorial chiaroscuro that celebrate the gestures of life. Graciously, I surrender to your folds of grace and intimate pigmentations that soften my soul. Yes, I am wet paint that is ready to be mixed and blended onto your palette.

You are my raison d’être! You are why I give myself over to your silence and find faith in the fragility of human suffering. I rest beside you in loving kindness. My words and thoughts are suspended by time, undisturbed syllables resonating to the inner rhythm, continuously rising and falling in the lines of your splendor. Infinitely vast and unknowable, you inspire me toward the freedom that blends the artist and writer awakened from the dream.

I hear and taste your palate for beauty and stillness through the world around me. Malleable clay, my heart yields to the pressures and the sensitive handling where images are associated with the earth. When baked, it achieves numerous shades that refine the character of my being. I deeply welcome the implicit motion of time detained within the image; being lost in your evolving geometry of shapes.

Oh my colorful universe, your artistry is everywhere. It is all there; waiting to be heard and colored by your intensely silent sketches etched into the human heart. This is a heart that feels each distinct brush of landscape and language. The muse and her brush stroking bliss into eternal overlays and undertones. She is not afraid to touch you or to receive your intimate treasures that belongs to us all.

–genece hamby

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