In Search of Klimt Series
Whimsical Angels | The Mask
"I treasure it all dear Wind, my host, mermaids and fairies in an angel art fantasy. I lift the barriers from my own self and accept that the thorns have past." And with that the artist fairy in me left her mistakes with the keeper of masks.
The Wind rushed in and pointed to the view. He spoke with the eloquence of the king he was.
"In everything you do, in every fairy tale story without remiss accept your self anew." The Wind had never felt more gentle.
"The Mask" pulls at my heart and lingers there with my conscience for mistakes made. We have all fell into that unforgiving trap. Angel art fantasy, or a mermaid made real lead me to gardens of safety. I see whimsical angels praying soft persuasions and their words gently covering me. "The Mask" is a painting that I did that speaks to what is past and redemption is mine...
It is a prayer of sorts:
"Dear angels speak to moons that meet me without forgiveness and let me feel the brighter day. Hold me close so I can feel your beating heart. See me not as I was but who I long to be. I will no longer cover my mouth lest I fail to speak the right words. Nor will I cover my eyes lest I fail to see that someone else's vision is not my own. No longer do I cover my ears lest I fail to hear my own singing has filled the room and I had not recognized my own voice before. Cover me with the warmth of your holy blanket whimsical angels and let the morning be everything I could have imagined. Cover me so that I will feel the ultimate freedom of finding my own eyes and ears and the things I choose to taste in life will be guided by my own inner being and longing."
A fairy taleis not a tale at all, it is an angel's gift of mist on roses tied with ribbons that they have left for me. It is the gift of rising up and seeing me free like a long lost friend that I have missed. There is no reward in holding regret for mistakes made forever. I turn and pick up a wooden case, I had forgotten how beautiful its contents were. It is like looking at my own inner self. Lifting the lid, under the satin pillow is, to my surprise, the gifts so lovingly placed. All the treasures that I choose to accept as being worthy to hold and use are freely mine. I accept what has always been available to me through whimsical angels. This is of course a gift for you as well for the Wind and angel art fantasy have never felt more gentle.