A Blank Canvas

Sorry I've been a bit distant lately.

I don't know what to say.
I just don't.

At my visual art internship today, we talked about blank canvases.
How they're scary, to an artist standing there.
All those possibilities.
It could be anything.
Those sweet ideas in your head, perfectly envisioned, unformed and full of promise because there are no mistakes to them. They're inside and blooming flawlessly.

Once you start, you've narrowed down the endless possibilities. You've decided. It won't be the same, it could be disaster. The strokes are being made, the petals leaking out . . .

But it can also turn out to be a masterpiece.

You gotta take the risk sometime. The simple, small risk.

I'm talking to myself, I guess.
It's just that blogging or writing is like that too. The blank page.
All those thoughts . . . millions and myriads and particles, blooming a rosy color.

And then I write it out, and it's stupid.
It's not the same.
I've decided what to say, and I could have chosen better.
It's leaked out of my hidden, secret insides where it feels warm.
It speaks out, and that scares me.
I don't know.

So sometimes, I just stay silent, and let the pen hesitate and then drop completely.
So sometimes, that's why.