The Spilling Over
You sit at the table.
Empty canvas in front of you,
hand raised, brush ready,
daubed with paint,
no plan in mind, only emotion,
the stuff that seethes,
letting it dam up,
letting the pressure rise
and rise
and rise again,
until it spills over,
uncontrolled chaos
with a message.
About this poem
Pretty much my creative process in a nutshell. No matter what I am creating.
Tom
PS: The picture is a detail of one of my paintings.
