Creativity
Of course, art is always somewhat
subjective, breaking established rules: the artist
intuitively adding imaginary inches to a canvas;
a work in progress, riding waves, finding depth
both on and off the easel, creatively flowing – a
vision on the loose –
(paused, but never finished...a true birth
having voice and life beyond the parent's release,
like a child going out into the world alone...
a must, for the painter to keep fluid a moistening eye:
that mysterious exorcism by his instruments...a true descriptor
ultimately not bound by the Catechism of Lines nor a Page's
World-edges;
no mural out of the soul, seeking spectacular release
is ever entirely confined to interior walls nor the sides of buildings~
that is why certain poems are read over and over, as if catching up
with an old friend~filled-in on what is new, an evolutionary rapport...
or one revisits The Museum of Modern Art – finding aged modern
in the old modern, the past meeting perhaps a cloudy moment and
today a day of awakening transparency – each vintage, an individualized
spirit-manifest,
a motivating shade of scentful-color~of brightness and overcast,
with searchable, unseen dimensions, the spaces science
has yet to fill,
the private domains of both
experimenting student and seasoned mystic...
the limits of what we
know, transformed by the revelation of what we dream,
the artist, and not the scientist, life's true conjurer of miracles,
only bound, when at all, by his own restricted conceptions of
time transforming space.
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