Take a look at this spider
Do you see how beautiful that web is?
Do you see the spider
Sitting on his masterpiece?
It's his bread and butter
This spider is what we all dream of
Sitting atop a mountain of
Our best and brightest answers
To the universe's most beautiful questions
This creature is the artist
Who taught Leonardo to paint
Who taught David to sing
Who taught Homer to write
He wins his life
With his own creations
Day after day
The artist is strong
He has the power
to make anything that he wants
He wears the cloak
that all others seek to dismantle
So they can wear it for themselves
He has influence
he has control
The man is weak
He crafts his artwork
to cover every single flaw
To rewrite everything
He is burdened by whatever vulnerability
all others cannot imagine
His insecurities fuel him
he has no control
i like artists
artists of all kinds
artists of words
artists of colour
artists of thoughts
they're the civilisation
they're the world
they're the visionaries
the hearts of gold
an artist is the one with the voice
the radiance of the sun
the summer in your eyes
the lover in disguise
the hurt in the dark
the tears and the smiles
an artist hides deep down
the one who lives in pain and shame
they say artists will never survive
i say artists are the reason we're still alive
Am I an artist?
Am I a theft of art.
Is my personality artistic or not?
What is an artist?
Do I make funny shapes on the canvas?
Do I look at things differently?
Do I trace the words of paint?
Artist I am.
Blue and gold in softest tones
Were my lost lady love's hues
As I watched her deft fingers
Draw into the dying light.
I cared not for the sketch
But for the faint smile
On lips I would never touch,
A face of God's own artwork.
I remember that December last
And the joy etched in each line
Of perfection that I was too much
A coward to capture forever.
While she ebbed and flowed
All afternoon from me
Waiting for my courage that
Never came to say "I love you".
Express the value of life
in daubed charcoal.
Adding the girl's nose,
a lace glove,
eyebrows tucked beneath hood,
chin tucked to neck,
subtracting her gloom,
harder to draw,
harder to detract.
Highlight her cheekbones in rouge.
Add breath to an otherwise
contemplating another condemned romance.
Add her troubled partner in the backdrop:
blue-gray with a hint of black at the corners,
small silhouette of a rainstorm
He's getting smaller.
Add some balance to a ruminating giant.
Subtract her moans.
Erase her nose
it’s too big.
No one will take her like that.
Thin the clavicle.
Thin the waist.
Add some plum to the lips.
Add a remark.
“This will not do.”
Grab the Hi-Polymer.
Try to capture the gleam
of mistakes on her face:
birth marks, pencil marks, oil sheen,
lines that are furrows or scars or warrior wrinkles,
ruddy blotches on the thighs,
dry skin on the feet,
Never trust a man with an airbrush gun
and a promise.
What a flawless thing:
makes her precise,
makes her yours.
Contrast to your optimism,
your bubble of assurance
that denies a compact or an inventory,
drawn in shady overtones
and complicated desires.
Artist’s proof of hidden trauma
shoved deep inside the confines
of gusto and canvas
come to life in the luster of pencil dust
and uncomplicated process
stretched on a sketch for the world to admire.
Soot and mirrors:
the self-portrait of the artist.
She still has all her freckles
and you are noticing
a few things
The artist is the one who is up all night,
The artist is the one who looks lost,
The artist is the one who fears no tyrant,
Because it just becomes the next piece.
The artist is the one who cries out with a pen,
The artist is the one who finds safety in a brush,
The artist is the one whose enemy is the blank spaces,
Because that's where there is uniformity and potential.
The artist is the one who retorts injustice,
The artist is the one who rips at the seams,
The artist is the one who screams at the world,
Because it seems no one will listen.
But never does that stop the artist,
For the artist is one of persistence,
A never ending fire that burns inside,
A passion that will never die.
Without the artist our world will crumble,
Without the artist our life will go gray,
Without the artist our days would be lonely,
Because that's when the blank spaces win.
It's the color that bursts from the mind,
It's the thought that paints the sky,
It's the music that gives us hope,
Because it's only with the artist we see reason to be alive.