I used to write and write and now I just stare and stare at a ticking time bomb of white and waste. When you are sad it is easy to write, at least for me. Arms overflowing with items to carry make it easy to overflow an extension of one's self onto screen and paper. Happiness isn't quite as easy. I feel as though words don't give life enough credit. Love is more easily translated in to wordless art, the colors and meaning inspiring that feeling inside that we all feel, yet it doesn't quite take letter form.
Parts of me are standing still, creative energy erupting and somehow failing to completely inspire action. I have dreams. I live dreams. I document my life in all ways. I document my life in a photo of a candle I see every day, a photo of a facial expression on a face i've seen enough to intimately understand, a photo of my own face; a time line of expression and fine lines. I've no doubt these details are the most important, though some days I don't feel like i've satisfied creativity enough. I've got dreams of all different varieties.
Wildlife photography, the saving and the capturing of a set of eyes, primal urges behind them and the lingering flicker of the death and continuation of life's endless circle. On instinct they chase and grasp and conquer. I want to save at least these ideas if not these creatures. I want to save it in color and then paint it with words. These dreams dance but they share a place next to others. Somehow my own daily captures feel equally as important if not more so; as lacking in excitement and adventure as they may seem to be. It is important to have both. All of these conflicting dreams suddenly don't seem so conflicting. Creativity appears to suffer at times but does it really? I could read more, write more, document more, compose more but I couldn't love more. This is an art. I reach and overflow and combine. Uncovered but covered and never shallow. Living and dreaming without sleep.
Dreams are studio rooms, sunsets, aircrafts, held hands, wasted hearts, warm feet, slammed doors, discoveries of a face and of time and space, expressions through art, a world at my feet, a pen in my hand, a nikon at my neck.
And in case you were wondering I couldn't love you more but i'll never stop trying. Let us be more than now and never less. More than dreams but never without.
I've got dreams without sleep.
