• Blank. That’s what this paper is. Nothing, empty. And to me, that’s not right, not at all.
    So, I pick up a pencil and begin. I sketch something, anything, and let it come alive. Through these hands, I let my ideas drip onto the paper, forming lines and shapes. I keep going, until I fill up the paper with a faint outline of something, anything. But this is not enough. No, not this.
    So, I choose a marker and begin. I go over the lines and shapes, giving them a vibrant glow. They scream at me, aching for that color, that boldness. So I feed their hunger, as they form a picture of something, anything. But even this is not enough. No, not this.
    So, I grab a brush and paint and begin. I fill the spaces in between the lines and shapes, giving each of them a different attitude. Inspiration seeps into the paper, but to the eye, it’s nothing but color. Those lines and shapes piece themselves together to create something, anything. They are delighted to find themselves more than many, but one. But still, this is not enough. No, not this.
    So, I lift this up into the wind and let go. I watch it flutter in the wind, finally where it belongs. It flaps in the wind, releasing every drop of originality it ever had, sending them all around the world. And as it lands on someone in this small world we have, it brings them an idea. This idea can then morph into music, poetry, paintings or whatever that person wants it to be, because it’s theirs. And that is enough