The Instant of Art

The master sits,
Patiently.
Fresh parchment, 
prepared.
Three of us,
perched.
Our curiosity,
Piqued.
His brush,
Poised.

The moment hangs in the air,
So palpably Now.  The contemplation
Of the empty vellum
The viscosity of the ink
The intention in his spirit
Flows unto the page
Until a single mark is made
Razor sharp and precisely laid.

20161228

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6 thoughts on “The Instant of Art

  1. You create the tension of the moment so well in your poem. I often wonder how much art is created unintentionally and under duress. I have always liked to watch artists at work.

    Like

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