The following is a poem written because I'm currently enrolled in a painting class and have used some of my experiences as inspiration. To put it simply, the point is to tell the story of an artist, an art teacher, and a painter.
Thanks for reading, and feel free to comment if you have any questions.
Life starts slowly, for you.
yet you parents see it in fast forward.
Sometimes they wish to rewind, or press pause
on those moments from before.
When you were on your way
and the nursery was being painted.
When every day was anticipation
and excitement in the fresh colors of your room.
You were born on the best day of their lives
and from the moment you cried,
their world changed.
a slow start for you,
change that came too quick for them.
From fingerpainting to
holding a crayon without eating it,
art followed you like the sun moves west.
School began and your colors shone.
combinations no one thought of,
imagination every other kid admired.
crayons and markers and pencils,
turned slowly to painting and sharpies,
to clay and beads and anything to be new.
high school hit, faster than expected,
and the question was asked,
'What do you want to be?'
Your hesitation wasn't expected,
the courage it took to say no to art school,
and the bravery of telling them
that you weren't an artist.
well, you didn't have that.
So, you went to art school,
and spent money on new paint
and new pencils and paper
and time moved quickly again.
Graduation loomed.
Once again, time to decide
what to do in life.
A job, offered and received,
adult life begins now, full throttle.
Few years go by before you meet someone.
Maybe the one.
Art becomes more enjoyable
and inspiration comes so easily.
Others had come and gone,
but this one stays.
The question is asked,
"Will you be with me forever?"
Hesitation doesn't exist then, only
"Of course!" And an embrace.
Dreams are made,
the date is set.
Like magic the day is past and life moves on.
A job change, a move.
The new house feels too quiet,
the pet dog is a great companion
but they want more.
A child to raise, to show the world.
Tired and tried, the result is nothing.
Doctors say that it won't happen,
and if it does, not safely.
They give up, disappointment evident.
They had wanted to make something together,
and now life trudges on.
The latest job, an art teacher,
creates days full of laughter and stories to tell.
The children become yours,
a kind of adoption that exists only in the heart.
And the effect you have on their lives
shows when they visit you years later.
Many years after giving your all to them,
it's time to retire.
Life slows down,
and art slowly takes over.
No longer for the students but for yourself
the style has changed over the years,
blended and condensed.
And now the paint on the canvas
tells the story of the years with ease.
Reminiscent of the teenage years,
yet all the chaos has mellowed.
Now the song the brush sings onto the canvas
is soft and bold and complex and full of memories.
The end of life draws near,
children of your family and friends
all come to see the work you've done.
Art has made life complicated and complete
and now for the final brushstrokes.
The signature complete,
the final breath is blown out.
The world moves on and
your art has influenced it.
Now it moves without you,
but it will remember you.
