There's something about these brushes, or the act of moving paint. Without words, there are answers in the mere act of taking this action, or any. Someone once told me, "Those canvases can't love you!" in anger. Neither could they, it turns out, but being loved has never been a goal I found worth seeking. It works better to simply love. That I can do often with a brush, but in many other ways as well. My life is full of love.
I am content with each moment with the gift of yearning for the next. I've heard it called, "Divine Dissatisfaction," that state of gratitude where I know I can be more, so I love. I paint. I strive without struggle to the next level of contentment.
Oil on Canvas