Neither. It started with a sound. A woodpecker’s beak tapping against a tree trunk, sharp and rhythmic, like a hand rapping on a door. Not noise, but music—a message. A pulse that stirred something inside me.

Sounds have always shaped the way I see the world. The hush of wind through leaves, the distant murmur of waves, the electric buzz of cicadas in summer heat. They don’t just enter the ear; they sink into the bones, becoming colors, shapes, movement.

This morning, that woodpecker’s drumming became my brushstrokes—quick, deliberate, unrelenting. I painted the tempo, the energy, the urgency of its call. The tree’s rough bark became texture, the spaces between taps turned into silence woven through the piece. And underneath it all, that restless feeling I know so well—Your Endless Restlessness, YER.

This is how sound becomes art. This is how rhythm shapes vision.

Can you hear the painting? Can you feel the beat?

I recommend: Your Creative Career: Anna Sabino

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Peace and love. Russ Myers

myersbrothersart.com