An artist, standing before a blank canvas.  A musician sitting with his keyboard before him.  A writer, with blank lines that have yet to be filled.

     Then it begins.  The creativity, the talent starts to well up inside of them.  Idea, inspiration, mood; whatever strikes the fancy.  The first brush stroke from the artist, the first keystroke from the musician, and the first word penned by the writer; all symbols that the first step on their journey into another world has just begun.  A world where they are the only inhabitants.  A world where everything is blocked with the exception of themselves and the device of their expression.

     The artist attempts to capture a picture.  Whether it be one that exists in their minds eye or one of a beautiful landscape view, or maybe both.  Maybe their view on the Grand Canyon or the Swiss Alps takes an abstract approach.  Maybe their father, perhaps a side of him that no one else knew.  Perhaps his hand is raised high ready to strike . . . or maybe the toughness has been shed, and the tenderness shines through.

     The emotions rise to the surface in the musician and flows through his fingertips.  Tips that seem to open and pour emotion onto the instrument.  His heart sings a song of beautiful melodies strung together by notes and rests.  Telling a story of a lost love or perhaps of one newly found!  Maybe a story of war, victory, and peace.  No matter what . . . it is a song of and from the heart.

     Perhaps seeing things in a different light, the writer pens his story onto a few blank pages.  Could so much be expressed by so few pages? Maybe a story.  Maybe a letter.  Written to one individual or written to the world.  Maybe this story will keep kids awake at night or perhaps it will let them slip off to sleep a little easier.  Perhaps this story will mend hearts or even break them.  Is this an epic to be viewed by the world or a simple note to be seen by one?  Perhaps no one will see it, and the story will be forgotten in a midnight fire.  No matter what becomes of it the writer still opens his heart and pours his life through the pen.

     Each one travels into another world and comes back with something that will somehow touch our lives.  A painting, a song, a story; that may change or challenge our way of thinking.  Maybe it will prove to us that our way of thinking is right.  Whether we want them to or not, they do touch us deeply.  So, perhaps when we see the musician at the piano, the artist mulling over a blank canvas, or even the writer staring into space; remember what important journey they are on.  The composer will compose, the artist will create, and the writer will write; all in due time we will see what jewels of knowledge, feelings, and wit they have created.  All will be seen in time, when they return from their journey to another world.

personally i think the above is crap.  I can't recall when i wrote it or why.  what comes to mind is my complete admiration for my brother and his artistic gifts.  the man can play many an instrument and can draw impressionism, abstract, and life pretty darn well.  it was clear growing up that art was his gift while talking was mine; i will never call this an ode to him though because as i mentioned earlier, this is crap and he deserves a lot better.