And sometimes they tell me their names…
There is something begging me
To give it a life.
Something it can relate to
So that it becomes part of our human world.
Again and again they urge me.
I know they need me.
I hear them calling, begging….
But often I am too busy with less important stuff.
Or too scared, doubting if I can do them justice,
Too scared of trusting the process….
But when I allow myself to follow their calling
Opening myself up to their wishes
Having enough faith to just get going
Having enough peace to listen to their soft voices
Speaking in no language known
Trusting what I do not understand
And following even the faintest notion,
Then they guide me softly, intensely
Telling me about the exact way
In which they would like to be made manifest.
I follow their instructions as best I can.
Sometimes we are finished after a few exciting moments
Sometimes they keep me waiting forever before each new step
Occasionally it seems so simple, so obvious
At other times it is a long struggle
But in the end we always agree.
Now they have a chance to meet you
Talk to you
If you care
To listen to their soft humming.
In a deep inner dialogue
I am standing in front of them.
Amazed and intrigued.
Grateful that I could help them to come to life in our reality
Giving them a shape to be recognized by
Or a line, a colour, a texture…
However much or little they need.
I am humbled to be their midwife.
Although they tell me many of their secrets
I still cannot grasp them,
Or fully understand their complexity…
Yet they are part of me.
They tell me all I need to know
and sometimes they tell me their names…
(Thoughts on how my artworks come into existence)