Images shaped by words; treasures yet unearthed; hidden thoughts wanting to be stimulated into expressions, all this by the creative hand of a writer. So also is the finished work of a great artist who shall awaken the heart; the soul, and imagination of all who gaze upon his canvas.
The writer contemplates the nature of man in his many forms; studies the volumes of books that contain mountains of metaphors and lofty phrases. Within every word is treasured the story of love and hope, of joy and great despair; words that rise up bringing life to a stony image; or the recall of an historical Biblical victory; scenes so touching, so majestic, so natural that the reader will believe he has just breathed the very air of ancient Israel.
Now the artist enters into the world of wonderful metaphors which the writer has used, illustrating them in wild and vivid color; devoid of motion, yet full of passion and vitality. The artist is but a manifestation of a writer, yet both endued with a certain oneness, each displaying a lively sensibility, enthusiasm, tenderness, and deep understanding of the performance and effects of Gods living creation.
Our author reveals in descriptive language the trunk of a gnarled tree; the inner passion of a distraught soul; the amazement of an adventurer as he views for the first time the splendor of a bright and beautiful landscape. For a fleeting moment we are moved to a place where sorrow flees, a land where fidelity exists; a place where the emotions of a humble peasant has been turned to joy; this is the world of a writer.
The artist has done all he can in that one painted view; able only to give us a momentary glance, -- unable to show us how the sun rose from above the horizon -- of how the darkness falls slowly upon the land. But unlike the artist our writer moves on, describing the lengthening shadows that lengthen still, that new born sparrow who would soon fly off; and the stars that shine in the evening sky, only to dim in the morning light.
As each day passes soon turning into weeks, our authors story begins to unfold, revealing his plot as the characters begin to take on life. And so often will he find himself drifting back into his yesterdays; into that quiet world of his boy-hood friends; searching diligently for that perfect image, that memorable moment.
And what word can be found that will expose the emotions of that lady in distress; or the despair of a beggar having an empty stomach; what sophisticated words can be employed in order for the scene to be played out? Hopefully soon will his narrative be brought to light, his story told.
The the artist unable to put on canvas the movement of a single heavenly body, can communicate in color the last chapter in the face of a old mans life; the weariness in a farmers sunburned face as he ends a long hot summer day; or the joy of a child as they throw a stick for the playful dog to retrieve; this is the genius of the artist.
But in the world of the writer as his narratives are told, facts revealed and then played out, each circumstance will have moved forward until the final scene unfolds. Only than will we know if justice has been served, if a life has been saved; of if the lost child is found.
And finally as the reader turns the last page he will have fashioned himself with a certain and viable character in the story; and only than will the book be closed.
Phillip LaSpino Taken from www.seekfirstwisdom.com
The writer contemplates the nature of man in his many forms; studies the volumes of books that contain mountains of metaphors and lofty phrases. Within every word is treasured the story of love and hope, of joy and great despair; words that rise up bringing life to a stony image; or the recall of an historical Biblical victory; scenes so touching, so majestic, so natural that the reader will believe he has just breathed the very air of ancient Israel.
Now the artist enters into the world of wonderful metaphors which the writer has used, illustrating them in wild and vivid color; devoid of motion, yet full of passion and vitality. The artist is but a manifestation of a writer, yet both endued with a certain oneness, each displaying a lively sensibility, enthusiasm, tenderness, and deep understanding of the performance and effects of Gods living creation.
Our author reveals in descriptive language the trunk of a gnarled tree; the inner passion of a distraught soul; the amazement of an adventurer as he views for the first time the splendor of a bright and beautiful landscape. For a fleeting moment we are moved to a place where sorrow flees, a land where fidelity exists; a place where the emotions of a humble peasant has been turned to joy; this is the world of a writer.
The artist has done all he can in that one painted view; able only to give us a momentary glance, -- unable to show us how the sun rose from above the horizon -- of how the darkness falls slowly upon the land. But unlike the artist our writer moves on, describing the lengthening shadows that lengthen still, that new born sparrow who would soon fly off; and the stars that shine in the evening sky, only to dim in the morning light.
As each day passes soon turning into weeks, our authors story begins to unfold, revealing his plot as the characters begin to take on life. And so often will he find himself drifting back into his yesterdays; into that quiet world of his boy-hood friends; searching diligently for that perfect image, that memorable moment.
And what word can be found that will expose the emotions of that lady in distress; or the despair of a beggar having an empty stomach; what sophisticated words can be employed in order for the scene to be played out? Hopefully soon will his narrative be brought to light, his story told.
The the artist unable to put on canvas the movement of a single heavenly body, can communicate in color the last chapter in the face of a old mans life; the weariness in a farmers sunburned face as he ends a long hot summer day; or the joy of a child as they throw a stick for the playful dog to retrieve; this is the genius of the artist.
But in the world of the writer as his narratives are told, facts revealed and then played out, each circumstance will have moved forward until the final scene unfolds. Only than will we know if justice has been served, if a life has been saved; of if the lost child is found.
And finally as the reader turns the last page he will have fashioned himself with a certain and viable character in the story; and only than will the book be closed.
Phillip LaSpino Taken from www.seekfirstwisdom.com
