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The Artist


*Illustration reference:

Francisco Rabal as the painter,

Francisco Goya


When tip to surface moves with ease

Without the aim to suit or please

None but the artist’s own mind’s eye

Shall judge if this be “slouch” or “try”

But even that should matter little

It takes more than some grease and spittle

To work those gears of pure creation

That spans scale from pain to elation

Just mere presumption of a gift

You’re led to think you’ve pulled a grift

You’re paralyzed by expectation

Afraid to rise above your station

Conundrum of the artist’s post

Be confident, yet do not boast

When pride is what compels the act

With hammer raised, first chiseled crack

Is often where the start will end

Too fearful that it’s all pretend

I beg you all, do not give in

To dampen drive is grave as sin

Instead indulge that seared compulsion

Let engine’s fire with jet propulsion

So everything you make will shine

Thrive or fail, you’ll still be fine

Don’t ever doubt this life we live

The world will take all that we give

Consumes it fast as we can make it

If that’s my role, I’ll gladly take it!

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