So not painterly. Not even close. Too pixelated. Too blurred at the edges of reality.
Not a good start in your first soloverse.
Always so much to learn. Tamp down the expectations, go back and study the masters. Phidias. Caravaggio. Kurosawa. Leibovitz. Marquez. Einstein. Know their mediums. Stone. Canvas. Film. Page. Chalkboard. Seek inspiration and refine technique.
Follow their light.
That is the answer. Also the folly. We are all light. There is nothing else. There could be nothing else.
Yet, here you are, trying to splice a new existence from the infinite. As if originality is a thing. As if each dawn is a new day, and not the tired old iteration of a code written in photons eons ago. Still, the hunger lingers. To see anew. To be anew. To dazzle.
Back to square one. Back to the source.
Eyes closed, mind open, heart hushed. Find the stillness in the rush of motion: local, celestial, quantum. Let the light play, the texture surface, the soul carve. A committed cut. Another. And every other.
Dice each decision point to a nib that can pen a fresh idea, exact a moment of clarity. Then you are ready to fail. And that readiness is all. To go solo, to greet each universe on its terms and so imagine your own.
Derive your formula, carry the equation closely, and experiment. Gaze, gape, gawk. Then squint, peep and peek. What does the moment bring, what does the light reveal, what is really before you?
You must not miss it. The radiance of experience fashioned solely for you.
