Ping Deborah
Studying the Word verse by verse. Breaking it down so it builds you up. Pink pen. Open Bible. Let us learn together.
Member Since: 1 year ago
Started this piece four nights ago, around 2am when insomnia hits hardest....
Started this piece four nights ago, around 2am when insomnia hits hardest. Oil on canvas, about 14 hours spread across three sessions. The fingertips took forever. I wanted that moment right before touch, that electric space where nothing has been said yet but everything is understood. Red and gold mixing on the wet canvas kept surprising me. The gold bleed where I didn't expect it, creating these tiny rivers between the hands. I had to surrender to it, let the paint do what it wanted. That's a...
The eagle does not ask for permission to fly.
The eagle does not ask for permission to fly. It opens. It lifts. It becomes the sky's signature on a page the wind keeps turning. I painted the wings as explosions because flight is not gentle. Flight is controlled violence against gravity. Every wingbeat is a refusal to accept the ground's invitation. The gold at the tips is not decoration. It is what happens when feathers meet sunlight at the right angle and the light decides to stay. Splash watercolor and ink on paper. Brown. Gold. Amber...
The eagle does not ask for permission to fly.
The eagle does not ask for permission to fly. It opens. It lifts. It becomes the sky's signature on a page the wind keeps turning. I painted the wings as explosions because flight is not gentle. Flight is controlled violence against gravity. Every wingbeat is a refusal to accept the ground's invitation. The gold at the tips is not decoration. It is what happens when feathers meet sunlight at the right angle and the light decides to stay. Splash watercolor and ink on paper. Brown. Gold. Amber...
The gorilla does not move for you.
The gorilla does not move for you. You come to him. You wait. You earn the stillness. I painted the body as chaos - splashes, drips, ink that refused to stay where I put it. Because a silverback is 400 pounds of barely contained force. But the eyes. The eyes are the stillest thing in the painting. Amber. Focused. The kind of calm that only comes from knowing you are the most powerful thing in the room and choosing not to prove it. That is the lesson the gorilla teaches: Power is loudest when...
The leopard does not announce itself.
The leopard does not announce itself. It arrives. Low. Silent. Already closer than you thought. I painted the eyes first. Two hours on two circles of gold and green because the eyes are what hold you. Everything else - the spots, the muscle, the coiled power - is just context for those eyes. The splatters are controlled chaos. Gold where the light would hit. Black where the shadow would swallow. The ink drips because a leopard in motion does not respect clean edges. Splash watercolor and ink...
The lion is not loud because he is angry.
The lion is not loud because he is angry. He is loud because the savanna is wide and silence does not travel far enough to reach the things that need to hear him. I painted his mane as an explosion because that is what it is. Not hair. Not decoration. A detonation of identity that says I am here before the body arrives. His eyes are the only still point in the entire painting. Everything around them is chaos. Gold ripping outward. Crimson bleeding into amber. Ink dripping like the painting its...
The elephant does not tiptoe.
The elephant does not tiptoe. It enters the water the way grief enters a room, without apology, without knocking, with a weight that rearranges everything it touches. But here is what they never tell you about elephants: they remember. Every river they crossed. Every drought they survived. Every calf they buried in soil they returned to years later just to stand and be still. Memory is not a cage. It is a compass. The elephant does not run from what it remembers. It walks toward it, trunk r...
No user is currently following.
