This art pours out of me as if my heart wishes to sing all day and all night. It is such a chatterbox, this heart of mine. It dances in the words as if it were performing a ballet, loving each tiny movement.
It comes as a river, often gentle, yet with a flow that appears to have a sense of where it is going. It comes to be born rather than molded, to show itself for what it is.
It is a lot of me and a lot of divine inspiration, or that is how I see it when the artist truly loves when the art is the proof of the loving heart.