The musty smell fills my nostrils and I am
Frustrated.
Lines don’t go where they belong and the paint won’t dry.
I love the brush like I love the paint.
Solemnly and with respect.
Smoothness rounds my movements
Shakiness fills my hands.
I want to feel how the oil feels
Powerful; purposeful.
But what remains of me is the canvas.
Blank and achingly abismal.
Oct 22, 2019
Oct 22, 2019 at 1:38 PM UTC
The musty smell fills my nostrils and I am
Frustrated.
Lines don’t go where they belong and the paint won’t dry.
I love the brush like I love the paint.
Solemnly and with respect.
Smoothness rounds my movements
Shakiness fills my hands.
I want to feel how the oil feels
Powerful; purposeful.
But what remains of me is the canvas.
Blank and achingly abismal.