Do you ever feel like a Picasso?
I mean seriously. Look at this thing. I don’t like Picasso’s art work for the most part. When I see a work of art I look for beauty. Something that makes me go “Ah yes …very nice”. Perhaps Picasso is accurate about aspects of life and reflects those well but he’s not cheerful. In this world full of cruel irony and lost sentimentalism, I frown when I look at this thing.
I wouldn’t have one of his paintings in my house. However, this is how I feel today; disjointed, out of place, broken and thrown back together as if the maker lost his plans and guessed where things might go.
The music is far from the instrument, my hands are small, eyes are lifeless. I can’t figure out what goes with what. I’m sitting in my own lap, licking my own tongue. Shadows with no maker. I feel this is how people see me too …at least for now. But, my hands tremble as I calmly assure them …this is not me …let me get myself together. I plead …please wait. I am impatient with me too …and justly so …and I’m growing that way with the world.
Is my vision disjointed? What corrections can you make? With one move the picture could focus or fall apart. Because I’m disjointed my strength fails me. I’m three people or just one. Blocky, square, rounded and colorful but unmatched. My clothes are out of style. Victim of cubism and the cry of a collage life. I am pieces of discarding beginnings. Shadows look through me and reach around. I’m hooded and lonely like a leper. Am I here or there? My jaws out of joint and mute like the painting.
For God’s sake …please know that this is not me. From afar you’ve seen pieces and set them together with innocent misconceptions. To know me fully will help you arrange these snap shots, these flat squares of my life that hang on the walls of your heart. It is not me. I, the momentary broken Humpty Dumpty, as all the king’s men shake their mythical heads. Pray I can be put back together, at least partially and put back upon the wall. With a little help from my friends and the best that’s in me and the God I’ve doubted I shall reunite my broken hinges.
The older I get I realize nothing is wrong with being a healthily co-dependent (though I’m been doggedly independent) and that the high point over two promising hearts holding hands is a God on high who shines wisdom into their hearts. All else is vanity and if doubting becomes your master you end up like a Picasso.
Do you ever feel like a Picasso?
I wish I felt like a Picasso! I feel more like a Picasso that was scribbled on by a toddler with a crayon then ran through a blender! But, in reality yeah I get you. But I guess that’s just the craziness of life.
Thanks for the comment. I agree there are degrees of feeling scattered.
Interesting. I always equate my discordance with music played on an out of tune instrument. I tune, tune, tune some more, but despite knowing that I just put that string in the right key, when I play it, the sounds are all off key again.
I would say that you must be a visual person while I’m an audio one, but the funny thing is that’s not true. I’m much more visual than audio–when words are involved. I need to read it to “grasp it” but when it comes to “the arts” music moves me more than paintings or sculpture. Weird, no?
Not strange at all. I think most people are like that. I am. This moves me more than Picasso’s distortions…
Well ..I was foiled by my own blog settings, which does not allow links. Need to fix that (later). go to youtube and find “Two Steps From Hell Undying Love” …listen.