"Her Special Quilt"

You know what. It is such a fulfilling feeling to know that your work is appreciated, especially when it inspires others. And I am very honored to have inspired one of the best writers I know. She dedicated this piece of writing after the Big-Artistic-Reveal in one of my School's assemblies.

And I am very proud to call her my Big Mama (Sister).

.......................................................
My Special Quilt: Written by Wild Adapter
......................................................

"A person, like a quilt, is a product of many things fastened together to create a self. A self is so uniquely composed, that its components are unknown to that very self let alone known to others. Every patch of cloth in that quilt holds a memory, a profound tale waiting to be unfolded. And in the rising and falling of the sowing needle, a new story is knitted to continue those tales incomplete.

I trace those tales told, I linger on those incomplete and I look for those yet to be told."

"I look upon a familiar sight.
I do not see her face, but I can see her hands. Smeared with the colors of earth, her fingers are paint brushes and her hands are a Platte of vivid colors. On an ivory patch of paper, she tells her story. The colors of earth draw a scene, and the backdrop is a fading hue of orange and red. Her back hunched and her eyes focused, she traces every detail of her tale and creates spoken words in the language of art and colors.

I watch her from a distance.

She raises her head for the first time in a long time, but her eyes stays in that backdrop of red and orange.
She doesn't notice me in the room; it is another who captures her.
She reaches for the Platte of pastel on the floor and adds new shades of crimson red to her hands.

No longer the color of ivory, the paper, smeared in red and earth becomes her stage, and the colors will soon create the actors of her play. A play that was performed long before her.. she re-stages it again, this time on her stage, her backdrop, her pastel colors, her art.

I approach her.

The backdrop of earth and red now holds the face of a woman. A youth young in her years, but not young to our existing time. A youth who is youthful, but belongs to yesteryears.

She re-staged a play, with the heroine, a famous face, a famous name.
She staged the woman that gracefully covered the works of the lord of art and color.

The backdrop of red and earth becomes her face; the crimson hue of red aligns the shades of her distinguished cheeks.
The fading shade of orange paints her closed lids, and the colors of earth and red crowns her head with a wavy mane of auburn.

Cinderella, by the lord of art, Leonardo da Vinci.
Cinderella, by the ardent lover of color, Maxy the talented.

I smiled and left the room.
She now has her stage, her leading lady, and a successful play.
I leave the room so that the artist can enjoy her own tale, her own play..
For didn't you know, that the colors and lines of the work of the artist comes alive when the poet is gone?
The poet only imagines..
I only have my imagination..
But the artist..

The artist creates It all.."

This Portrait is currently hung in my School's Administration