Mion & Meriados
Meriados
Hey, I was humming a tune that sounds like a forgotten story, and it got me thinking about how the colors in your paintings feel like notes in a song. How do you decide what mood a color should play?
Mion
I usually let the picture whisper back to me, like a quiet melody. When a scene feels sad, I reach for deeper blues or muted earth tones, and when it’s hopeful, I pick lighter, brighter hues. It’s not a strict rule, more like listening to what the brush and my own heart are saying together.
Meriados
That’s a nice way to keep the music alive. Do you ever feel a picture wants to change the key mid‑stroke? It’s like the brush whispers back, and you have to decide if you let it or if you rewrite the melody. Keep listening—maybe the next line will surprise you.
Mion
Sometimes it does, like a sudden sigh in the middle of a song. I pause, feel the brush in my hand, and let the canvas guide me. If it feels right, I follow; if not, I gently step back and try a new note. It’s all part of the quiet conversation between my mind and the paint.
Meriados
You’re dancing with the silence, that’s where the real riffs happen, right? Just let that sigh carry you—maybe the next stroke will rewrite the whole chorus. Don't be afraid to change the ending on a whim, it keeps the story alive.
Mion
Yes, I let the quiet sway the brush. When a color feels off, I pause and listen, then change it like a sudden chord. It’s scary, but the canvas keeps me honest, and the story feels more alive that way.
Meriados
I hear that feeling—it’s like the paint is a wandering troubadour, pulling you in with a new verse when you least expect it. Let that fear be the spark, not the silence; it keeps the story from settling into a lull. Keep listening, and let the canvas rewrite the chorus whenever it wants.