Sunday, April 17, 2011


I am thankful for paint. All colors and all types. For the wall paint that allows me to turn my home into a living changing canvas, for the aged paint that is layered like some romantic story on my antique furniture, for the oil paint that makes the stairs feel cool on the bottom of my feet, and of course for my art paints that hold the mystery in their colors, the freedom in their texture and the endless possibilities they present to me every time I hold the brush and take that deep breath before I begin.

One of my favorite books...

The Artist's Way
The Artist's Way
Thank you paint.
And for the canvas I wrote this many years ago...


I know you are blank
like a freshly starched shirt
waiting to be worn about
I can see you
propped up against
the buffet table
In your cellophane wrapper

I splurged
and brought you home
remember? I chose you
to come into my 900' house
24"x36" of life
primed and acid free
in medium texture duck

What is that you say?

I know I know
I haven't forgotten
the colors tell me that too
Just begin
I told you I know!
and you know what stops me
yet you keep repeating it

Tell me more canvas
not about your frame
or your staples
tell me what it is
you see that I don't
tell me, sing to me
call my name louder
guide me to the next

The beat of my soul
the whisper of ancient
villages and swirls
howling wolves
blue moon woman
our language
we speak
quietly softly
loosing time
gaining the unspoken wisdom

Tell me again

No, just don't tell
be with me
rectangular and curved
dark and light paint
all of it
rise in me
and sing again
perfection is not
with us today

Where shall we go?


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