canvas

a revelation
that all the world is not a stage
but a canvas
but not in the literal meaning of the word
more of a vague canvas. a bedsheet, paper, a wall, the floor, can be covered with paint, but the air can be filled with smoke, and the silence can be filled with sound.

but even then there always remains the unadulterated original canvas. the silence, the ground, the paper, the tree.

we are always taking whatever it is we have and turning it into something else.
acting fills roles, has structure, and so many other things that we don’t have everywhere, namely a script.

i am not a fatalist. i pour my soul out onto everything i make contact with, in spontaneity.

its all a canvas. paint until you die.