Listening to the brush strokes, the colors mixing in this room that was the place where so much was created. A few hours packing of body casts (for eye training I am told) unscrewing of paint dropped easels and still life props, this room is slowly readying itself for a new kind of art. The kind that jingles, taps, colors, skips, hops, rolls, massages, loves, shares, sings, and more and more and more. I can almost hear the sweet songs, squeals of delight and toddling footsteps.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
What do you hear?
Listening to the brush strokes, the colors mixing in this room that was the place where so much was created. A few hours packing of body casts (for eye training I am told) unscrewing of paint dropped easels and still life props, this room is slowly readying itself for a new kind of art. The kind that jingles, taps, colors, skips, hops, rolls, massages, loves, shares, sings, and more and more and more. I can almost hear the sweet songs, squeals of delight and toddling footsteps.
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