Art Work
White.
Nothing more than an empty canvas
it waits for the stroke.
This is the calling.
The brush glides on the surface with crimson curves.
This is the practice.
Red dancing with the blue waters of the sea,
and sunflower petals fly through the scene.
The brush runs on the water’s edge
and trails shimmering starlight behind.
This is the vocation.
Where there was nothing,
there now is the sea
with stars on the shore of crimson sands.
There yellow petals fly through the air
that glows with a neon light
turning from orange to pink and purple
and then back to orange.
The brush climbs the red hill
and digs a hole
in which a seed is laid.
A green leaf comes up
and grows higher.
The bright plant keeps on,
and soon the red hill
is red no more.
Monumental blossoms
open in arrays of luxurious lavender.
The world is young and hazy
and once more the brush returns
with black shadows to be strewn
under each stem and fanning leaf
as the scene grows barely darker
but more refined.
Now all is in focus
and clearly in place.
All is understood,
for this is the life created
and the life imagined and realized.
This is what I see.
