The paint assumes it can be anything it wants and go anywhere within the canvas. Running down a hillside or onto a tree so that it can grow. Curves might become nothing other then what they are meant to become, or maybe much more then they imagine. The paint soothing the flat surface of a canvas that needs it. The wide open field becomes a painted sway of yellow wheat while a woman emerges. Her body swaying as a bird. So too her arms as she spins into sight. The grace of the moment aligned. In the distance a softened sun addresses shadows for the paint to cling to and own. As I too assume paint and love. Copyright - Susy Kamber All rights reserved