That which reminds me
Is there any point in waiting here?
Empty eyes as statue stare,
Fragments of places
Where I have tried and failed to forget
Frozen here amidst the seven
And spiralling between the two
Is there anything I would rather do?
Can't even burn that which reminds me
Crumble to my ground; giving up
Breeze scattering ash.
You may be a glance away
But your fading soul remains deep under
Ghost melody echoes in my head
I'm waiting for my wings to grow
So I may spread feathered tip
And float away, wingbeat slow.
Far away choir sings minor
Yet nothing but silence graces waters' edge
Let these feathers fall; I shall leave this place
A fear becomes too real; besides
Who mourns upon the grave of a soul alone?
As long as I feel, I cannot slip away
Your remains are still here...
Such a thought turns me to dust inside
Approx 20 hours in Photoshop from scratch. I'm trying a more soft painting style. I also looked more closely at some references for the hands, and did a bit of research into wing shapes. I enjoyed making this piece for the most part, I could really engage with the feeling in me. It seeped its way down from my head to the canvas; It made me want to cry at times. Its amazing what art can do to me.
I think I'll make this one into a print too, as its fairly well polished in terms of the detailwork.
I really hope people like it