To Die To Live

Art can be so personal: I open with strokes Of shadow first— The dark of me, Working into light; It is like this with all things— Irrelevant till illumination; Potential of canvas Meaningless, colorless Without craft of feeling— Perspective of the heart Brushing and blending— Making deposits And withdrawals, If done correctly Always taking away More than I give; Leading me to The mysticism of art— The spirit of all things: Whether painting with oils, words, music—blood; Each greater than The discipline itself— Sort of like Being born to die into Appreciation of life—