The people are so pretty when I paint them on canvas. I watch the rise and fall of the colors as they fill the emptiness. They wave in tandem with each bristle. This is when I feel the paint people are most alive. In putting them together, they can move like they have a mind of their own. I focus and attempt to make each stroke perfect. I want them to feel beautiful, but the brush helps create their natural form.
Each artist and brush leave their own trace. When I began learning about all of this, I was hypnotized. I would run into each store that sold interesting brushes, paints, or canvases. I was able to build an impressive collection. I was fascinated by the seemingly perpetual motion of curiosity.
I collected for years. Eventually the thermodynamic exhaustion taught me that I preferred to paint. There’s a certain calm to it. A rush that I feel more apart of. Now I have one brush, four colors, and three types of material. I gave away most of my tools. Of course, the stores decided to make more. I still visit them. They are good at sending invitations. So whenever I buy a new item, I let one of my own go, except my very first brush. I barely use it, but it feels special. It’s such an intimate piece of mine. I’m scared that giving it away might hurt.