Painting Metaphor

Yesterday I was painting to some music - slapping paint on the canvass and singing along at the top of my voice, happy as can be
- when suddenly it occured to me that I wasn't paying any attention to where the paint was going anymore - I was just happy and singing.
I thought fleetingly, "This is a pretty good way to mess up a painting - not even looking at what you're doing..."
But I shoved the thought aside and kept right on singing.
For me, painting is an act of faith.
I suspend my disbelief in myself and just focus on texture and color and music - and joy flows out of the brush.
I don't paint anything that actually looks like anything - you might call me an Impressionist, I suppose.
I paint feelings.
A few months ago I was painting a picture of a little girl dancing in the rain.
She was holding her arms out and smiling - and I thought, "This is a pretty good way to mess up a painting - "
only it didn't stop there. I started dwelling on how hard the subject matter was - how fast the paint was drying - that what was on the canvass didn't look anything like the image in my head - It looked like white blobs against black background.
I got so worried that I couldn't finish the painting.
I sighed and started covering it over with black.
No painting ever looks like much when I first start it - It's a bunch of flat washes of background color that I want to shine through, and none of them are shaped like the actual objects I plan on putting over top.
The thing is, if I just suspend my disbelief for a few moments - those moments turn into an hour or two, and next thing I know I've got just exactly what I was looking for...
Okay, so not exactly.
I always end up with something different than I had planned. The girl is happier than I expected, or the sky is darker - I never know what to expect.
But whatever happens, it's always beautiful.
I stand back and stare at it in astonishment - every single time - because I have no idea how I did it.
It's a mystery, and therefore a miracle.
For me, painting is like this familiar scene in a movie: I'm walking across a narrow, rickety little rope bridge with my eyes focused on the lush green forest ahead.
Look down for just one second and see the teeny tiny little river hundreds of miles below, and I'm so scared I stop dead in my tracks.
I'm too terrified to inch one more step.
I have to focus on the goal ahead, and not for one moment glance down and think of how far I can fall.
This makes painting more than just an act of faith - it's an act of worship.
When I'm painting, I'm slapping that paint out on the canvass out of sheer joy, in sheer gratitude that everything will work out fine so long as I keep moving ahead.
Yesterday I painted the little girl dancing in the sunshine.
You can't see her face, but you can tell that she's singing.
Is this a metaphor for life?
Isn't everything?