Dancing paint brushes, palette knives, and paint scrapers,
Amid a canvas await its awakening,
Nearing the empty palette are sealed hues of paint.
Introspecting and interpreting ideas,
Enthusiastically expressing emotions,
Leaving no vacancy, just creative clutter.
Gathering around to see the artist’s canvas,
All wait for a quick glance of his work in progress,
Refuting amongst each other what they just saw.
Carefully not letting know he heard their whispers,
Instead, he remained steadfast working his canvas,
As if the voices he heard, were only his own.
The artist’s confident hand gyrates and twirls,
His vision and virtuosity are ignited,
Except he’s humbled by his exceptional foresight.
As my eyes watch, he transforms the once void canvas,
Right before he is done, one last flair of the brush,
The masterpiece is wrapped up with his trademark name.
In time, somewhere in the not-so-distant future,
Stories of an artist and his finished project,
Take place with no words, only a transformed canvas.
artwork courtesy of Daniel Garcia, Artist, 2015
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