The Art of Art

Looking upon the white void before me

An infinite field of endless possibility

A blank slate to build any kind of world of my desire

I run my hand over the blank sheet of paper that makes me feel free


The smooth, sharp, scratch of a pencil on paper

The graphite smoothly gliding as it tapers

The soft lines slowly taking shape

Imitating whatever I wish to pull from nature


The smell of ink or paint as it spreads my way

The rough texture of charcoal,

I manipulate them to express what I wish to say

And finally, chaos delves into a sense of control.

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