A secret voice in purple hues

If there was a biography about you, what would the title be?

A secret voice in purple hues

I struggle with putting my truth onto pages if it’s not written in a lyric. Without the comfort and safety of melody, I shrink into a shell that’s as big as the universe but also private and secluded. The shell is not to keep anyone or anything out, because I remain connected to the ether… I can sense the dynamics of life as it unfolds in the lives of others.

The shell does, however, keep me from experiencing myself in front of others within this oceanic-sized ball of emotion that makes up humanity. To fully be, I do not need an audience, but without ‘being’ in front of witnesses, how can I say that I can be, or that I am?

What I mean is…. Is a colour still a colour if it’s not been seen. named or processed? Does the existence of the colour depend on being witnessed or experienced as an occurrence? Or can the colour retain the validity of being, while undetected by onlookers? I ask this of my voice, my place, my purpose in the grand scheme of creation, and not of others. Even so, I am able to still exist and speak and be, while questioning the validity and importance of my existence in all the spaces, creative and otherwise, that I gravitate towards.

So I, too, like the many I connect to and with, am a vibrant and sometimes dull energy with her own signature and texture. I, too, am a painting that haunts, a painting that evokes curiosity, passion, pain, comfort and solace. Hmmm…