Behold the artist, blind since birth, Consider what she paints. No perception of perfection, Hence no rules; Hence no restraints. The colors on her palette Are hers alone to see; Created only in her mind, Her brush will set them free.
Behold the model, sitting naked, Consider how he feels. He knows that she can’t see him, Hence wonders what her gaze reveals. If silently he moved away, Would she even know? Would she continue painting, Though her model chose to go?
Behold the canvas, total black, Consider what it means. Is it art regardless There are no browns, no blues, no greens? When the model views the finished portrait, Does he stand there filled with awe? For the black, the shapeless splotches Are what the artist saw. Pwl 11/28/16