This is an image of a collage that I have begun. I am limited in my art supplies, right now, so I work with what I have. It will appear rather juvenile, perhaps, but it will please me. Then I’ll probably find a way to consume it with fire for an art video project to reveal the REAL one, the finished one, in OILS, behind it. But I have to start by investing $1-2,ooo and by going through the Bob Ross series, most of which is available on Amazon Prime. Hallelujah! I watch it, anyway, pretending that I’m painting my scenery. Living the dream before it’s been completely realized. Only there’s a bunch more PURPLE in my scenery. Each of his is a masterpiece, finished in 1/2 hour. In 64 years, I might be able to come up with some infantile PURPLE tree or something that satisfied me. But I can’t start out with $65 worth of stuff from Walmart and be satisfied. I have to go all the way. Again. And stick with it longer. In Jesus’ Name, Amen
The pink paper has what others see as different colored inks used to inscribe crescents, or moons. I’ve always looked where others don’t. It’s been a character trait that has never drifted away. I read the books. But I saw the spaces between words. I used those to draw rivers and mountains and trees (Bob Ross comes to mind, again) and, of course, other letters. I would draw them in with pencil or, if the book were mine, and not an old book, with pens. Text books, newspaper articles from the paper that my mother or father was holding up from across the room. I couldn’t read the words, yet, but I could see pictures in the spaces between the words.
Here, too, in this pink paper, I am discarding the moons. They are not what I see. They do not fascinate me. They’re common enough. Other people see moons; other people are fascinated by moons. What is it that they DON’T see? That’s what I’m after. Remember, I wrote in “Why am I here?” below, ‘What if they run out? What if their coolness, their weirdness runs out? What if they could no longer have their piece of this weirdness pie, filter their thoughts through this weirdness sieve, gleaning just the right amount of weirdness from that which NORMAL people discard?” I see these funky shapes, these REMNANTS as art. They are alive to me. They tell me fun and interesting stories and Bible Studies and Pink Joy. In this first cutting, I see a praying robot, Singing Flowers 🌺 to GOD.
The Remnants. The “Least of These.” The shadow people, the recalcitrant reprobates, the rebels, the broken, the addicted, the homosexuals, the Goths/Emos, the cutters, the manics, the psychotics, the abused, AND the abusers. These people drew me to them all my life. I got a long, painful look at their worlds. And now I got a GLORIOUSLY PURPLE LOVE from GOD that I long to use to REACH, TEACH, PREACH, LOVE, GIVE, ENCOURAGE the LEAST OF THESE.
I don’t wear the filthy rags of guilt about having been where I have been. It has become my Mission, and my Gifts shall be used to reach those who are lost on some of the same bumpy paths that I’ve traveled. Praise GOD, I now wear the WHITE ROBE, cleansed in the BLOOD OF JESUS. My ARMOR is nearly complete. Amen