~ Paintings of memories ~

There is one painting in the atelier of our lives that still stands unfinished. There is hidden treasure, deep inside us; only we can see it and touch it and only we can have it whenever we want, to spend it as much as we wish and not to spend all of it ever. Its name is Memories. And at the moment when something is missing a lot, we go to our hidden treasure and search for the thing we haven’t had for a long time and we would really like to have it once again, touch our sorrow, and again in one moment, we are happy like that. We remember one of those many days that changed our life. In the sea of memories we look for the answers to many questions. In only one moment we realize that many things we could not prevent and stop, but we are happy that we have memories, our endless treasure house, we could carry every joy and every sorrow of our heart in it and to enjoy them whenever we want. If there had not been so much joy, we would have never known how much the life is beautiful and only one. If there had not been so much sorrow in our lives, we would not have what to write, there would not have been enough colors in our paintings. I return to my short childhood with smile on my face, I remember my first colored paintings and little dreams, little wishes, first small dog, first violin that I rejoiced that much. And I would like to be a child again just for one moment, to touch all those clean and forgotten things, to be happy for small presents, for every flower in my mother’s garden, every colorful bird that would by chance flew to our windows, every colored pencil and my grandpa’s big boxes of candies. Now I know that I was a child for such short time, but that short time never died in me. At least a small part of every my painting I will give to my childhood: maybe to blueness of the sky, that was carrying our first kites, maybe to greenness of grass, where we were trolling so many times, maybe to silver twinkling of river, where we chased frogs for the first time and laughed for long time, perhaps in the eyes of strangers we met for the first time. With every movement of my paintbrush I return to my first schooldays, to first wickedness when we did not even know what we wanted. The thing that we were young and immature was enough. With each blue color on my paintings I return to my first sea and its waves, first shells which I was looking for hours and hours on the other beaches. I return to those people who are not present anymore, but who gave me a lot. I return to my grandfather, who was my voice of wisdom, who took with himself all our secrets into one world far away, who gave me a heart that big. Our last talk changed my view of the world. In my memories I return to my friends and our sleepless nights, to my Peggy who knew how to love, to look after and to protect my peaceful dream. Every day I return to my mother and father who live for my smile. I return to day before when for the first time I wished to write down these words. I quest for my memories, for the day when I stopped being a child and I know that I will search for it forever since it does not exist. Every new morning brings us new drops of life that are collecting, disappearing and again falling down on our soul, heavy and inexplicable. And at the moment we do not want that at all, we hear them again persistently banging on the windows. And we can not handle with them, we can only wait for the sunshine to melt them, but the Sun is not always shining on our windows. I remember my sorrows and unfinished stories, the life that did not want to give a lot and wanted to take a lot. And if there it had not been I would not have remembered one love on wheels, I would not have remembered one March and deep dark eyes in purple color of sunset and I would have not known why I like Carmen and Forrest Gump. If there had not been that much of darkness, my paintings would not have had that light; if there had not been that many unfulfilled wishes I would not have dreamed. And again I rejoice at every new day although I know that it is full of sorrow and disappointment. I rejoice the fact that I exist, the fact that I breed, that I create, that I transform everything bad into good. I rejoice at every smile that I see in someone’s face, every warm word. And I know that everything is not still lost since we exist and our memories too.
Paintings of memories, author Suzana Stojanović, July 27, 2006