Evolution: A gradual process in which something changes or develops into a different or more complex form
Where is there an end to the process in a work of art?
Where is there an end to an artistís blossoming style?
There is no end, as there is never a beginning.
Rather, there exists a constant state of being that is ever evolving, ever affected by the surrounding environment.
Did the work begin as plant and fiber, waiting to be cooked and beaten into paper pulp and twisted rope? Or did it begin in the rain which fell from the sky?† Or was it in the sunís rays which enabled to plant to grow? Or was it the seed from whence the plant was born?
When was the idea planted in the artistís mind?
It was in the moment of inspiration in watching dried grass swaying in an autumn breeze, and it was found in the small sprout who rose up in the springís nourishing warmth. It was found in the child, running through a forest in the summerís full bloom, ferns towering above her head. It was in the full moonís reflection on a glistening field of snow, the air so cold not even sound ventured out of doors.
The inspiration was manifest when twisted string wrapped fallen forest branches and forest vines. When washes of color mixed with quilted paper, leaves, blossoms, and wood, they formed a new opening in the forest and in the mind.
It was in these moments that plant, seed, rain, snow, and sun took on new form, ever changing with the artistís evolution.
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