THE SOUL OF ART

Transient

by Stormy Lee Monday

What do you say we buckle up and go for a little ride? Just you and me. Let the winds of time caress our thinking. Run its fingers through our hair and tickle our senses. Carefully, slowly and ever so gently, touch us in places we really like. 

Within our souls, my friend. 
Within our thinking.

Places that wet our notions of being. Being more than we are. Being inside…who we are, alone. Reaching inside…who we are, alone. Wanting another soul…inside, who we are, alone. Someone in the Universe that knows who we are… without being told. Another soul in this Universe that  understands  what we feel and think and desire

From earliest times we reached for those tender places. We danced with complete strangers, searching. The gestures of monumental moments held within our reach, hoping for arms to embrace the notion of sharing now. Hoping for one soul to search back, to embrace back, to dance and dream back. Hoping for one soul to open the windows inside our eyes…back. Hoping for a book a treasured  memories to someday hold near and dear in our hearts.

From earliest times, we yearned for something more. Something more than the path so clearly before us. Would we dare to make a path no one sees. Would we? Would you?
Since my earliest days of childhood, I always knew this would be the road for me. The unchartered, jumbled mess of rocks and debris scattered on broken paths in dis-array. The cluttered forests, back- roads, alleys and far- away towns, I dared seek the way of these  unknown  origins.

Like an empty canvas I’ve stood alone with this dream that matters so much to me. Venturing into a blank space with but one goal in mind. To transform this arena of emptiness into the colors of hypnosis. It’s always been my passion in this life. My goal. My mission. My ride inside forever. My vessel of solitude. My self-doubt, my hopes, dreams, sorrow, misery and prayers that I would ever in my wildest dreams, dare to stand on any stage and scream aloud, “I am an Artist!”

After all, I dream in full- blown color. I travel through the hues of every rainbow and the spirit of my being welcomes the mist of every color to surround me.  I sleep inside the clouds of endless time and effortlessly  wrap myself in ten thousand shades of white and blue.  Doors open before me and lead to spaces alive with flowing translucent silvers and gold.  I am effervescent to the touch of pearly, magical possibilities. As I stand before blank canvas, I’m hit with a feeling first. The energy of a piece envelops me, surrounds me, and takes me over.  It’s an almost hypnotic, meditative state. I become the canvas. 

Colors splash freely past my third eye, fast and quick and my focus devours me and refuses to let go. It holds me fast to the moment and flows through me, holding me steadfast as the adrenalin and rushes build within who I am. A sense of balance flows through me between fluent motion and initial activity and there must be a need for the counter-balance of non-doing. The non- descript inactivity of the physical, dissipating away, from the known conscious being.

As I walk inside the canvas, I become no longer a part of the physical World around me. As I lose the essence of time, space and the current grasp of my known reality…the one real and absolute truth of my actual self becomes who I know more clearly within the clarity of my being. There is no better sense of self than when my physical being is lost unto itself.   My spiritual energy becomes free to express the purpose of my blessed adventure in time.

 It is in this moment that my true journey begins.  The spirit within me keenly scans across specific small areas of the blank canvas seeking harmony between the color, depth and texture that I, while, at one, with the Universe, apply. Those smaller, particularly interesting areas grow carefully into larger more defined and more intriguing color-filled spaces.

Everything somehow, strategically and beautifully in place. Colors provocatively making sense with their placement, around the movement of lines and textures.  The natural flow of the piece unfolding in colorful detail.  With each singular growing square inch, the canvas eventually and patiently finds a voice that speaks as a whole of the finished canvas, communicating the essence of the message found within the painting.

The contrast of eloquence expressive in a masterful blend of color, depth, textures, lines and explicit, endless possibilities. Each message with each piece different for each eye. I would expect no less.

After all, we each travel a different path. The realities in your World would relate differently to a painting as opposed to the realities in someone else’s past.

For me, I feel this is the beauty of Art.

Fill a gallery with art and then let people from every Country stroll through. What we would have in a hundred languages would be a hundred different and varying feelings and thoughts about each piece. Art is the one thing in life with the ability to transcend all languages, cultures and  races. I love that. I love life and I love the possibilities each of us are given in the space of the time we are blessed to experience.  My earliest memories found me drawing, painting and writing imagined stories of wonderfully created characters of interest. 

I imagined and wrote stories about the food in the refrigerator coming to life in the middle of the night to play fun and silly games with me. Of course, each of the hot dogs would have crazy names and we would conquer brave new lands and win minstrels hearts in our journeys across the sea. For me, it was for the fun of creating a magical land where the children weren’t beaten nearly to death, almost weekly.

Escapism at its finest! Hey, I just happen to be a child with a vivid imagination and writing beautiful stories and creating new and interesting characters served a valuable purpose for me. Painting served much the same purpose. Since the real World that I happen to live in was drenched heavily in poverty, abuse and unhappiness, I was faced, at an early age, with a survival dilemma. We all do what is necessary to survive.

Fortunately, God blessed me with creative gifts and I polished them quite well at an early age. My circumstance evolved from a time when life was far different than it is now.

I was raised in the deep South.  My Father was a Southern Baptist preacher. He was also a Korean Combat veteran whose Mother had died when he was only seven years old. Being Cherokee Native American, he lived wild in the Smokey Mountains in East Tennessee till he joined the Air Force and served fourteen years.

He was discharged for injuries in combat. Truly, he was a strict disciplinarian, but, it was quite obvious to the local Hospital and to Police that he far exceeded those boundaries. 

Living with survivors guilt and suppressed rage, my sisters and I suffered the wrath of that rage till I finally stood up to him at age fourteen. I must say as he got older and processed out more of the War and the hell of his  past, he became an amazing and gentle spirit.
But, throughout my childhood, life, for me, was nothing short of hell.

My Mother was a beautiful, small Irish lady filled with kindness and love.  She did the best she could with our family and I have nothing but precious memories of our lives together,  many, many years ago.

Although my Father has long been gone, I can honestly say I grew to love him very much as well.   I have five younger sisters and I’m the oldest. 

I don’t want sympathy and I’m not whining or crying poor, poor me.  It’s only fair that you understand better the stimuli for my lifelong travels,  art showings  and creating art and murals. Also, let’s not forget my never- ending ventures writing books, poetry and songs. 
It seems I’ve painted and written literally all my life. I hope through time, you’ve come to enjoy my work and I will continue to create new and different art and books and stories just for you.
 Well, now you know more about me. I hope you continue to follow my writings and purchase my books and Art.  I also write a monthly article in BikerSpot magazine. You can also enjoy my art and more of my writing on my Facebook wall.

Well, my friends, till next time.

You have, once again,  been traveling “Inside the Eye” with me, Stormy Lee Monday.

Transient
Transient
Transient
Transient