2024 October #003. Whispers of history, murmurs of time, canvas stretched out, secrets sublime. A vessel, once hollow, now heavy with tales, whose shadowy contents, like mist, disperse and wail. Fluid memories seep through the seams, pooling in silence, dreaming in streams. The figure, a conduit of past to present, lies bare, the vessel's essence now crescent.
Bone white draped cloth, untouched and pure, beneath, the tide of chronicles obscure. Amidst the gallery of silent observers, each brushstroke unravels the tapestry of murmurs. Encased histories, not to confine, but to convey an existence, intrinsically entwined.
The contours of life, tender and brave, embracing the chaos from which we are made. This tableau of skin and spillage, a dance, fluidity of form, chance's romance. Unraveling layers, so daringly we seek the beauty in the spill, the strength in the meek. Through pigment and pose, a legacy unfurled, spilled secrets, the currency of an immortal world.
Laid 'pon this altar, the naked truth, in every drop, a tale, a sleuth.
