The Change

The Change is coming and there is nothing i can do about it. I must live and experience that which comes next, without control or context. It becomes something more like real as i go along the path, Mixing in with the constructed reality which can only become real with commitment. But commitment to what? A fabrication which is "I". The Change is coming. My sandcastles will be taken again by the wave and i shall rebuild the thing. Complex reaction to a simple moment in which i lived.

As i admit life, i must admit death and the change. The change, then i find myself again.

I relate to green. And the imagination in which i create. Nothing else really matters, but the thing i become, and the Change. Taking from life what we will becoming in the Change. 

This is how we become. It is not a matter of building oneself upon secure foundations because the past, like the present is a fabrication dependent on experience, tainted by emotion, everything moving. The Change.

Do i exist? If not in the Change. I am the Change. 

The emotion you see in my paintings exist in certainty, elusive and real for near i hold your opinion seen from another angle. Be not dead. I fear the Change. But it happens again. Then i pick it up to try to bring some sense of continuity to the world. For your sake i do this. But why? Why should my narrative have continuity? Is it not enough to express? Will you take meaning from this dislocation? Do I care? This is the nature of the Change

I try to make something beautiful from it. A beautiful life

Oh, to live in a beautiful life.