La vorágine de lo cotidiano nos arrastra como el río, cuesta abajo y sin salvavidas, hasta el final.
si el momento de disfrutar las pequeñas y grandes cosas, las que empiezan y las que terminan, no es ahora. entonces cuando?
hay un tiempo para todo.
y el tiempo de vivir siempre es hoy.
tenemos esta oportunidad entre millones.
no todo es tan azaroso como podemos llegar a creer.
seguir simplemente esperando que algo cambie no es una opción.
mientras esperamos que las cosas pasen, es la vida lo que se nos pasa.
en definitiva uno siente lo que quiere sentir.
“cualquier lugar es probablemente hermoso si dejamos de correr por un segundo”
⚡⚡never cease of doing what only you can do. please find out what only you can do.
for a while i was completely overwhelmed with the tools that god gave me. i was crippled by doing the wrong thing that i didn't do anything at all.
even times when i did create, it felt like public consumption and applause was the c****x rather than the shift of social consciousness to come into the light.
its imperative to be alone with your tools, to discover your greatness in silence and slowly begin reflecting such through your work. this post isn't speaking to creatives. i'm speaking to you with the practical 5 year plan of your life too.
take your tools and put in that work, we not here for long 🌠🌠 🎤🎸📸🖋🖌💃🏾
what are yours ?
Essay: the wild inside. read full post by clicking on in instabio profile @eatingbuckets and then “essay: the wild inside.” did you know that having a recognizable “voice” in writing is akin to designing your own line of furniture or clothing or paintings or illustrations or chef’s creations or blogs or industrial products or even shoes? it’s called your brand, the voice you use to be seen, recognized, and heard—but above all, in the highest order of creative law, to hopefully transform someone’s experience after discovering your creative offerings to the world. it’s funny, you’d think your voice would be the easiest thing in the world to find, but it isn’t always. still, you need to nail it. how odd is that? but it’s true. we are born with a voice distinctly ours—signed, sealed, and delivered–and then somehow we lose it somewhere along the way, like a dropped sock or a coat tossed off in a moment of heat and exultation and later found crumpled in a bin of lost and found items, sometimes so tangled among all the other items that it’s difficult to even know which one is ours. some spelunking might be in order. there is an inner creative tension that exists inside all of us. there is also a conditioning process that we adopt at some point, often in childhood, of tamping down the overtly declarative self that offends; of learning to occupy that space of tension between the real self and the socially absorbed self; the voice we quiet until one day it spills forth: “i sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world,” (walt whitman, 1855). so, what’s your voice? who are you? what’s your stamp on the world? what’s your brand? read for some inspiration. i’m cheering for you as you don your headlight and head into the cave to find it. .
*swipe to see a more up to date shot of this one.* this is the third painting in this series of surreal-ish paintings about life-cycles, and the duality of life and death/ beautiful vs. grotesque, dark vs. light 🌌 🦉 .