Anyone can paint. Once the most basic hand skills are learned all that remains is process. Once you trust your hands; all the time spent happens only in your own head. And that’s when your own thoughts begin either eating you alive or working for you. I used to carry a small notebook and jot down notes for stories, I would write in point form at work and on the way home elaborate on all the currents I swam in.
On weekends I would create portraits of all the places I went. The trade of Painting became just another mode of dreaming for me and my brother.
The elemental equivalent for the word “Painter” is Bismuth; Element 83 (Bi)… Its not hard to understand once you get the numbers. (#Darklord) But it is easy to make assumptions based on the gravities of existing language. For a duelist all the waking dreams thought through out the day, become metaphors for the next days “future” events… So on an so fourth. Soon enough nothing shakes you. You develop Ninja like reflexes for catching things that fall. Your tongue becomes a double edged razor but if your a gentleman you will say very little… (Its just not fair after a certain point.) Soon enough your demons become your henchmen and you sit on a dark throne… a half-world in front of the ‘suit’ ahead of you in the line up in Starbucks; half-aligned to the “future” with only one foot in the now… If you step on my toe and don’t apologize, I mark you… one way or another. Nothing is wasted in my realm… except you…
You… Yeah you. I see you… I saw your kind last time… Your a re-run.