Eyes of Mozart

 

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Pale tones of silver and grey blur the horizon. The cool water emits sparkling hues of wood brown. Like white maggots do the objects of man embrace the sea; precariously bobbing, indifferent to life. Glassy orbs, their lifeless gaze facing the abyss. Just as tiny soap bubbles hang suspended in gel.

Piercing shrieks fall victim to thick smog, unable to permeate mirrored reflections everlasting. Of horned devils and deadened eyes, peering through glossy pages. Memory of fish, priority of ant. Worries of sand. Of Agent Orange and precious blood, spilled in vain. Suffocating the nostrils, choking the throat. Constricting the chest, poisoning the heart.

Yet take solace in the smiling eyes of Mozart. The kind, humble lips to man. You are suddenly content with your seemingly menial existence in an ever expanding, ever changing universe. Your point of stillness emerges from neat lines of ink. Dripping from parchment the way a tear drips from the eye.

Hot butter glistens on wooden spoons, calmly dripping, aided by gravity. The spoons are refined; smooth and comforting to the touch. Age exposed not by its quality but of tender hands, warm and knowing. Plump, scented lips, laced with bittersweet chocolate and F minor melodies, its opposing dominant raw and stark, but forgiving.

A surge of warmth floods to your heart, accepting of fate, of death, and mortality, as you are consumed into the depths of nothingness. Tears of joy rush with heaving gasps, as the heart pounds for yearning and longing, for closure as beautiful as the silence that enshroud the ears of Beethoven. Closure as beautiful as the heavenly light that seeps from the eyes of God, unknowingly befalling the ears of man.

Premise

This piece conveys the ability of music to ease suffering and allow us to accept the ultimate inevitability of death.

Paragraph 1 – Addresses the destruction and erosion of the environment.
Paragraph 2 – Conveys the alarming juxtaposition between materialistic obsession with celebrities as they ‘peer through glossy pages’ with the suffering of innocent civilians caught up in war and violence.
Paragraph 3 – Communicates the ability of Mozart’s music and music in general to allow us to be content with the inevitabilities of life, and to ease spiritual pain.
Paragraph 4 – Connected to paragraph 3 with the imagery of ‘dripping.’ An example of such contentedness in life.
Paragraph 5 – Connected to paragraph 4 with the imagery of ‘warmth.’ A reprisal of paragraph 3 as the climax of the piece is reached, with a final reference to music and its ability to bring closure.

 

Raining life

So Much Talent! So Proud XXX

gornmatys

Rain is water and water is life but rain is not life by itself.

I love the smell of rain; the smell of petrichor and geosmin.

Raining life Raining life


original: painting, signed

technical: acrylic

support: stretched canvas

size: 40 cm x 50 cm

2.12.2012


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The Friend That Got Away

Campfire. Marshmallows. Hot chocolate.

You are woven so intricately throughout each other’s story. You speak the same language, sensitively attuned to each other’s quirky mannerisms – a facial expression communicates the subtlest of thought, and even the slightest vocal quiver is noticed, slipping by undetected by the layman. They provide advice, support, validation, all while finishing each other’s sentences and private jokes. They know you so well they could write your autobiography and no one would know. Put simply, you are unable to fathom how life could be without each of your friends sitting around you.

Fast forward time and you see a sporadic Facebook post, a new job update on LinkedIn, the occasional tweet, and you wonder – what happened to us? How did we go from being inseparable to near strangers, so shallowly (and ironically) connected by social media?

We didn’t have a massive falling out, nor did we start to lose common interest. People shrug indifferently as they blandly say, “life happens.”

I am not too sure what “life happens” really means. All I know is that for reasons that I can’t specifically pinpoint, we’ve gone from knowing every single detail of each other’s lives to knowing almost nothing. Sometimes, I wish I knew how it happened – but all I can do is hopelessly speculate.

Maybe we grew up, separated geographically, got busy with responsibilities…

I wish it didn’t happen and I will always question why, how, and when. But I know I won’t find the answers.

What I want you to know is, your friendship fuelled me with happiness, rigour, comfort, and life. The countless times we laughed uncontrollably, the oodles of memories we cherished, the terrific pranks we played, and the hours on hours we spent on the phone talking or texting…

 You made me happy. You made me feel loved. You made me realise that I was valued, and that I was worth valuing.

So whilst I hear about you when I run into a mutual friend, see you change your profile picture on Facebook or a post about you in a school magazine – I think of you. I think of you fondly and I know you think the same.

I truly wish nothing but the best for you. I long for the day we reconnect but even if we don’t, here’s what I’ve always wanted to say: Thank you for being my friend. Even though you aren’t actively involved in my life as before,

“My friend that got away – I carry your heart in mine and I see you in me.”

 

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