Perhaps there is nothing magical about the way paint flows from the tip of a brush, but for me, it's healing.
Perhaps there is nothing redeeming about the bristles and the strokes of color and the formation of thoughts, but for me, it soothes the ache.
Perhaps there is nothing at all astounding about hours spent creating a work that will soon arrive on a wall and be forgotten, but for me, it's a way to release.
Watercolor... Acrylic... Oil... Pastels... Pencils... Ink...
Plain jane ordinary tools.
But for me... They take me away from the stress and the worry. They allow me to breathe and focus on someone else's needs for a moment. They erase the worry lines from my forehead and the tension in my neck. They draw me into something that is not myself.
And I am thankful. I'm thankful that my wires are crossed and my heart is tied up in the little things. They may not be valuable to some, but they are priceless to the soul.
And I'm thankful for healing through a brush.