Inspiration: Dancing Brushes

It is a moving target, not unlike a moth.
Here. Not here. in route. in search of fire.
In need of feeding with a child’s need
for affirmation,

which is kind of stupid, considering
it’s more therapy than retail,
an almost madman in need of understanding
himself, trying to dig out his own emotions
with paint and canvas and space and light.

It is the white spaces that interest me the most.
Unseen by the viewer, who tends to see the color
first and foremost. The white spaces
where possibility still exists.
The more of the canvas that is covered in paint,
the more trapped I am feeling. Or lost. Or,
as is often the case, confused.

But I paint anyway. Write anyway.
Slash away at it. Experiment. Play
or wring it out. Never sure. Always
right on the edge. Always where inspiration
can find me working, and like a ghost or demon,
fills me, and makes my brush dance,
delightfully lost while the heart takes over.

About this poem.

PIccasso once said “Inspiration exists, but it has to find you working.” It is one of about a dozen or so quotes that I live my life by. I saw the quote while eating breakfast, and from that and fact that I often write or paint when I am not inspired, surprised at what emerges, this poem.

The painting is one of mine. It’s tltled “Inspiration”. I have not posted it for sale yet.

Tom