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My wife used to paint…but doubt kept her from exploring this passion. I gifted her on day of a new easel, blank canvas and paints. But I decided to write her a poem to help her get over her fears of not knowing what to paint. Hope you enjoy!
An Artist’s Dream
By Choloepus
Blank stare, white contrast…
An eternity in passing.
How to commence what is not there? Teasing the image out of memories like pulling a cloud with an angel’s string. Imagination is easy. Putting brush to canvas is a more arduous adventure.
Do you portray what has past? Floating images of bygone scenery roll through my head like a slide show carousel on a 78 vinyl LP track. A glimpse here, a shadow there. I strive to slow down this picture show…concentrate on one setting, but as with life, the moments quickly flash…just to disappear once again.
Do you portray the imminent, the forthcoming? Providing a hopeful glimpse of dreams to come and fantasies that are imagined, giving one the time to shape what is to be displayed? Do you grasp deleterious moods of a negative thought to create foreboding imagery – convey your being, or a sentiment in time?
Do you portray a life in a moment; a glimpse that can transpose time and find itself in any instance? The endeavours worth repeating, the disappointments to avoid. Mapping a life route, a legacy for those that will follow.
So much to portray, so many colours to expose. People; the joyous smiles, the wretched tears. The instigators of laughter, the catalysts of hardships. Places; the order of architecture, the chaos of nature. Revealing what is stagnant yet living. Emotions; can the colours of my palette truly match how I am feeling?
My head spins, my thoughts swirling into an infinite darkness pulling these images, these feelings, my essence into a cesspool, away from my grasp, far from my brush.
Blank stare, white contrast…
The brush dips into colour, a sensual moment, two entities about to craft what is embedded in one’s sole. The anticipation of the stroke, like the prelude to a kiss. The excitement heightens, time accelerating. Before the doubt creeps in the brush explodes with a richness of colour, without hesitation, without any thought. The brush is my being, the eyes to my sole, my voice to be heard.
And the story is about to begin…
hi, until i could understand it is so beautiful, art is a God´s Blessing and the true love as well, congratulation for your poem
kisses a lot
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