Spotlight warms my skin,
I have a rising feeling,
All I have worked for,
One shot for the role,
And I know the lines,
The audition piece is engraved in my mind.
My life is better on stage,
With meticulous directions on the page,
Which I am expected to perform,
I must cut through this swarm;
This gathering of empty faces,
They want to be stars, but inside they are empty cases.
I am more than a stranger,
I become more than a character,
I am the glowing figure with reaching hands;
They grab for a dream in imaginary lands,
The lands hidden in curtains, props, and music,
Where I am one with the theatre's magic.
I see things differently,
I am full of bold decrees,
So I let the pencil fall in place,
Lighting up a canvas with a rthymic trace,
Inspiring me to reach farther,
Showing me to be a fire-starter.
If I can light up my page in red,
I can light up hearts; make them know they are not dead,
A bit of color and water,
Can lift others higher,
For the flaws of a masterpiece,
Reveal perfections of its maker; worthy of Matisse.
There is a tradegy not seen, however,
Played out or set forth by any atist or director:
Acting is an art of magic,
But art is no longer considered lasting or static,
Just a waste of money, time, energy -
Unimportant to education or to a prodigy.
How can so many say that art is unimportant?
Did not De Vinci love to paint?
Shakespeare, a progressor of eras, wrote plays and we say bravo,
Jane Addams' Hull House included a drama club and art studio,
Yet, we say study and take away the paintbrush, a symbol for that which is free;
How long until the spotlight is taken from me?
Art frees the mind in which nothing else might,
Drawings startle crowds into awareness, portraying day or night,
Words spoken to an audience tell a story,
Far more than a book could convey with glory;
What we learn from art lasts forever...
Will book-knowledge be its intercessor?