The blaze

Let me tell you,

My new painting “The Blaze,” which I love with all my heart, appeared on its own. Like all the others, you might say… And indeed, that’s true. It’s part of my creative process. Let me tell you its story.

I walk into my studio, turn on the lights, and touch the canvases resting on their easels. Some are blank, others textured, and some wear a promising color… Each one waits its turn. God knows they will have their turn. I don’t know when—nothing is planned. There’s a medium-sized canvas I painted in a beige-orange tone two or three days ago. It’s waiting. Patiently. I look at it, I touch it. I feel it—this will be the one. My body vibrates at a different frequency when I enter this space. It isn’t esoteric; it’s creative, spiritual.

I put on music that allows me not to focus too much on the lyrics—music that vibrates at the same frequency as I do. I adjust my easel and place the famous beige-orange canvas on it. It waits. It looks like nothing, and everything at once. For a fraction of a second, I feel fear in the pit of my stomach. “What if I don’t know what to paint on it?” A few seconds pass; the feeling is already gone. I knew it would be. I know this process. Something stronger reassures me, and I hear deep within: “Trust.” So I surrender. I lay out a dozen colors, brushes, my ink, my pen for writing. My pencil too, I admit—and of course a lined notebook. When the doors of my mind and soul open, inspiration enters through every pore. I am ready. I am not in a hurry.

This is when I no longer fully exist in the physical body of the here and now. And yet, I could not be more present. I am disconnected from the noise of earthly life, freed from the everyday. I vibrate with this moment that belongs only to me. Time passes, but I don’t see it. I no longer think about it; it no longer exists.

Faces begin to take shape in ink, roots intertwine gently. And then… these words… “The Blaze,” and then the text. “Does it rhyme?” “Is it beautiful?” I don’t even think about that. That’s not what matters here. These words, this work, needed to exist. So be it. Tears fill my eyes, carried by the most sincere emotion.

As I reread the text, I realize it speaks of a part of me—of us. I realize how we can become either victims or creators through our thoughts. I am moved. The painting comes to completion. We observe one another. An invisible, inexplicable bond has been woven between us, and forever it will be a part of me. Whatever becomes of you next, so be it. I had to create you, and now it is done. I am at peace. I hope “The Blaze” will hang on the wall of someone who was searching for it without knowing—someone who needed it.

I leave my brushes in the water. I turn off the music. I smile. I close the door behind me.

See you soon,

See the painting

Caroline Brousseau Author