[ IP ] Stained

They always told me'a picture is worth 1000 words'. In my life I had never seen it that way, I had always been an artist commended for my work and the ideas I could put onto a canvas, but the art never had any meaning to me. It was always just work I did, I was given a theme, I painted, I was done. It was a picture. I studied art at University, all the old and famous painters I looked at the brush strokes but they never made me *feel* anything special like my class mates raved on about. 
 
 `` Oh look at the emotion in this. It's so powerful, the reds show his anger and passion.'' One of a myriad of examples from my class mates. 
 
 Then one day it happened. I had been emotional before obviously, but this was the first time it was this large. The sense of desperation that comes with that one moment that happens to each person. Heartbreak. The phone call that came was the most crushing thing that happened to me, hearing those words `` He did n't make it.'' Opened a new part of me and I went into my studio and painted. Raw energy, anger, sadness, nostalgia, grief all poured out onto the paper as I slashed my brush, building colour and meaning with every movement. I did n't sleep and when I finished I sat back looked at my paint covered hands and wept. 

