"Storms are my forte," the red-lipped stranger said, her blue ember eyes glowing softly in the misty gloom. A tendril of smoke curled elegantly from her opened palma whisper of fire, and roses. "Diamonds and sapphires raining across the open sky . . ."
"Hmm . . . Lightning and thunder are beautiful too," she continued, stroking her ebon hair darker than night, that glimmered with the touches of starlight. "Blue and silver streaks across an indigo sky with rain," she purred. Her voice was melodious, like the ocean by twilight, like a breeze playing upon cathedral bells.
"But I do like firestorms too. Topaz and red, like ruby bolts of s
It's been almost a year since my last journal entry . . .
Well, I'm still around, still creating pieces to capture my flights of fancy. :) I'm quite happy with the way my style has been changing and evolving, and I hope to see myself still improving in the future.
I can't wait to see what dreams will weave themselves into art.
I find that I miss the old art I used to create.
My style has both changed and remained unchanged; however, much of it has transformed into something new entirely. My works were once of the sepia of old, forgotten photographs and of the night; now, they are fantastical prisms of light and song.
That is not a bad thing, of course; life for me has burst into full color, which manifests itself in the art I now create.
However, I am slightly afraid that perhaps I cannot create the art that I used to anymore.
(Truth be told, I miss the layers of antedeluvian dust and decay that was once my work.)
I am only slightly afraid, though--for once so