I bleached my colors for him.
In the mirror, I stared my life’s mural in the eye and began painting over it – a stark white. I made myself a blank canvas, and still he complained, because in some places my colors peeked through.
I tried to tame my vibrant reds, to reduce the bottomless depths of my blues, to dehydrate my verdant greens –
To pick all of my own flowers.
And as my magentas faded to mauves and my violets to lavenders, I came to find that my refurbished clean slate just wasn’t good enough for him. And it wasn’t good enough for me, because it was nothing that I am, and everything that I am not.
Ladies. The beautiful thing about art is that somewhere there is a show or gallery that would be honored to build a collection around your portrait. Stop trying to make an artist out of those who don’t have the eye to appreciate your divine design. Every stroke and paint splatter is where it should be.
The right collector is out there for you, and will spend his last to place that winning bid. Wait for him.
💛💛 follow my blog – http://www.niquenatural.com