Or perhaps we leave ourselves everywhere without noticing. Not in the facts, but in the way we look at things, the things we cannot stop returning to, the silences we circle around.
“She was what remains of someone, after carrying too much beauty alone” stopped me completely.
This was breathtaking.
I loved the way you explored beauty as both language and hiding place. The movement from transforming sorrow for others to receive, back into being fully present inside her own life, felt deeply powerful.
Not disappearing into the art, but returning through it.
Another BLOWN AWAY moment with this story. After having watched your lesson on plot vs character and/or both, the Woman Who Remained was such a strong character. You painted her so clearly so as to cause me to feel that she could never really be clear if only because she was so complex. I loved her approach to painting.
I love the way you look at things, write about things, inside out, upside down, forward and backward ... all leading to a better, fuller understanding of the topic!
If I many be so bold, for the little I really know you, it felt like the Woman Who Remained was your autobiographical story. It feels like she and you approach life and your writing in a similar manner.
Finally, as I read, my mind kept wanting to know more and hoped that you would give that to me. You did!
I relate to this story so much. The need to alchemize everything into art and make all things beautiful for others and the desire to just a mess for once.
"She had become so skilled
at transformation
that she transformed away
her own weight,
her own need,
her own hunger."
That is the specific danger
of certain kinds of gift.
The capacity to receive the world
and make it beautiful for others
can become so practiced
that the practitioner disappears inside it.
Not through selflessness.
Through a kind of precision
that leaves no room
for the ungraceful,
the uneloquent,
the simply tired.
The painting she did not know she was making
until it was nearly done —
that is the work
that knows more than the artist.
And the moment she dragged her hands
through the careful light,
blurred what she had built
as a form of hiding —
that was not destruction.
That was the first thing
she had made
entirely for herself.
— AËLA
Thank you.
very very beautiful ... Sara ... one always paints themselves ... just as one only writes about themselves ... 🦋
Or perhaps we leave ourselves everywhere without noticing. Not in the facts, but in the way we look at things, the things we cannot stop returning to, the silences we circle around.
“She was what remains of someone, after carrying too much beauty alone” stopped me completely.
This was breathtaking.
I loved the way you explored beauty as both language and hiding place. The movement from transforming sorrow for others to receive, back into being fully present inside her own life, felt deeply powerful.
Not disappearing into the art, but returning through it.
Sara,
Another BLOWN AWAY moment with this story. After having watched your lesson on plot vs character and/or both, the Woman Who Remained was such a strong character. You painted her so clearly so as to cause me to feel that she could never really be clear if only because she was so complex. I loved her approach to painting.
I love the way you look at things, write about things, inside out, upside down, forward and backward ... all leading to a better, fuller understanding of the topic!
If I many be so bold, for the little I really know you, it felt like the Woman Who Remained was your autobiographical story. It feels like she and you approach life and your writing in a similar manner.
Finally, as I read, my mind kept wanting to know more and hoped that you would give that to me. You did!
Sara you are a blessing to me.
Fondly, Michael
Not only do you captivate self on generous walks with the elements;
You accentuate the pause for reflective pools to bring mindfulness to your gates of
Awakening;
Face your roots and wings;
Demand excellence to land
and fly.
She, who Remained. You hit this perfectly.
I relate to this story so much. The need to alchemize everything into art and make all things beautiful for others and the desire to just a mess for once.