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Artist
If life was a painting, where would the drops of wet paint go?
Dripping off the canvas , leaking down the frame and eventually to its demise onto the floor...?
Thats where I want to live; in the beautiful chaotic patterns consequently created out of the debris of what once seemed organised; in the twirling vortex a gust of wind leaves behind; the accumulated puddles of different colors an artist rains onto the floor after their brush sways and dances to the winds; like retreating towards the guiding light of an inspirational storm.
