A Night in the Art Room

The light from outside has withered.
My mind has gone home with the school children.
Only my imagination remains, crafting a newborn image.
One the world has yet to see.
I stand before my canvas with pride.
My paintbrush held victoriously above my head.
Stained to my hands is determination.
all of the Yellows.
My body aches from self exhaustion.
Resiliently my eyes pace back and forth.
Searching for error.
I step back, feeling my feet for the first time.
My complexion lacks life.
All that i have had is now in front of me.
My lungs catch the air around me.
Poisoned with pottery dust and turpentine.
The clock ticks and the bulbs hum.

http://www.kingsford.org/khsweb/0910news/asa_march/index.htm

it might have been a thursday.

Now the rain finally falls. Cold but sweet. Providing, nuturing, growing, new places. Life giving and precious. The cold rain falls.
My feet are soaked. The damp moisture follows me around. In and out of class, back and forth to home, and to you.
We walk hand in hand. Slower than before. Our connection is deeper and farther than it has been previous. The past is still around through.
(falling like cold rain.)
Today i skipped. Made love. Ignored my oils. One love over another.


I miss my oil.

Note II

this is not an explanation.
this is a promise.
there is more to come.


i have not forgotten.