Love, that eternal mystery, and shouldn’t it always be that way?
For me that is a rhetorical question, because I know the answer, and in many ways. Does that make me an expert in love? Of course not, what a horrible claim that would be . . . in a way dishonorable to the divine and the sublime.
Perhaps it is what some may call a hobby, but for me it is more like a way of life . . . the search for it (love) in most of what I see . . . and I’ve seen so much of it in so many ways. Some that know me (or think they do) would scoff at every word I’m writing here, but I can’t control that, have no need to, and simply dismiss the scoffing as irrelevant. That doesn’t make me arrogant, but more like frustrated. There’s so much I’ve come to know, but it seems the price of this knowledge is an almost solitary confinement in the knowing.
Perhaps the painting and the writing are an escape from this solitude? It sometimes feels that way. More than that though, there is this smoldering desire, “true art is characterized by an irresistible urge in the creative artist,” as Einstein put it.
Many readers may find these words vaguely written, and that’s understandable. What I’m reblogging here might also be construed as vague, and yet there is so much beauty in the mystery of it all. I neither condone nor dismiss any of its content, but somehow I do find it easy to understand, as it is ultimately one more way to search and find love, and oddly enough, it seems to describe a creative process.
Here it is, a most intriguing post: The nature of domination.