The artist holds his brush
And lets his soul flow down his arm
And through his hand
Like sand in a receding tide
Making wide graceful sweeps
He keeps the movement honest
On its way from heart to canvas
And it’s a song, a melody composed
By those same energies inside him
So that standing beside him, you can know
It is so. It is he. His ethereal reality
He is showing me. He is giving.
The gift is what he is living
What he is feeling but cannot be said
It is only inside his head and his heart.
This image is but a start, a glimpse,
Simply a hint of what he is;
His essence made visible
Indivisible from his soul.
If this is his goal, he is a success.
I say yes. He has succeeded.
Nothing more will be needed
When he adds that last bit of color,
Those last few dashes of shape
That have escaped the heart
Of art as it lives in the soul
Of the artist playing his role
As messenger of inner love
That has helped him rise above
Into a life of color shape and beauty.
This is more than his duty.
This is his heritage.
So, there it is.
For all to see
(Inspired by Jim Hague)