An Artist's Soul


Here's what keeps this soul going
Here's what makes the days shorter and longer
Sometimes the song of a mourning dove or a gust of crisp, fall air is enough
But the darker and colder days yearn for something more
Days when my breath comes short and the birds can't be heard
Days when my heart has to will itself to beat
This is when I pull out my tattered moleskine, sit in the corner, and bleed.
Splatters and colors my hand composes are my safe place
Words, lines, and brush strokes kindle my heart
In strength and in weakness, this song of color and composition is always beating, always enduring
It never tires or weakens
Never fades or chokes
Without this gear, my clock would not turn
My days would not flow
My hands would not love
My heart would not glow
My life without art is lost.


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