They were just smudges really. Forgotten blobs of color that no one would notice. Except me.
With a bit of time to kill before work, I wanted to go see Buckingham Fountain now that it'd been turned off and drained for the coming winter.
Just steps away from the fountain, I found bits of paint on the pavement.
My heart skipped a beat. It had been so long since I painted now that I'm working all the time.
It was much more to me than paint on the sidewalk. It represented freedom, spontaneity, creativity.
Was it leftover remnants of an artist's messy plein air session or a deliberate attempt to paint a pattern on the ground for all to see? A magical sword, a rainbow feather, or something else entirely?
I'll never really know.
But I do know I miss creating art. How I long for it to be an everyday part of my life.
Sometimes I wonder if one's artistic passion eventually dies after not being used or does it just get buried deep enough that it becomes forgotten?
I guess I'll learn the answer to that firsthand.
Maybe one day the artist in me will be gone and the next time I see a sight like this it'll just be paint on the sidewalk.