Literature
Witness
Some paintings act as clocks; sentinels and witnesses to the passing of time. If you open yourself to it, you will find the variations in texture, the subtle differences in colour and shade telling you of the weather and the turmoil or open air peace; one edge sun-bleached, the other cracked and flaking, barely holding the pigments together. Some parts still smooth, the brushstrokes and tiny blobs of paint are bold underneath your questing fingertips.
People are like that too. We are living memorials of every strange and terrible and hopeful thing we've gone through. Every scar, every freckle, every wrinkle and darkened patch of skin are tes