Brushes in the Water

Brushes in the water.
Cleaning.
An old work, framed at last.
Paperwork on the desk finally done.
A call to the doctor to reset an appointment.
Their request.
Paint tubes scattered helter skelter
returned to their drawers and bins.
Findable again.
Sketchbooks returned to their table.
Not the first bit of paint laid down.
No feeling of progress,
but still, it is there. The work done
to clear the chaos, making way
for a new mess,
for progress is, for you at least,
always messy.

About this poem.

So much of life is preparation. But the exciting stuff is messy. Both are important, but only one FEELS important. True in art. True in life. Mine at least.

Tom