Colored pencils
Pastels
Sticks of chalk
Too light for me
Water colors
Doing what they want
Dribbling all over the page
Wild and free
Oil paints
Vividly beautiful
Take too long to dry
I am too impatient
Acrylic paints
Give me fluorescent colors
I have black lights
They make me happy
Categories:
acrylic, art,
Form: Free verse
I take a step back and look at my canvas with inches of acrylic paint piled on as a result of trial and error.
Something is off.
Are the tones mismatched?
Why is it unbalanced?
Do I no longer like the subject matter?
I bite at my nails, I bounce my leg, my eyes dart from corner to corner.
Did I do something wrong?
I inhale and fixate on my palette.
Charcoal Gray, Crimson Red, Canary Yellow.
Beautiful, but wrong to me.
My hands open and the colors drop to the floor.
I rummage through the additional shades and pull out the one that is identical to the canvas.
The canvas I haven’t seen in years. The canvas riddled with subjective mistakes. The canvas that endured a lifetime of experimentation.
I untwist the cap, dip the brush directly inside, and slather the canvas.
Though the acrylic grew thicker and the texture of my previous strokes remained,
I was starting new.
Categories:
acrylic, anxiety, emotions, growth, identity,
Form: Free verse
I am an acrylic painter who cannot live without a variety of greens.
Green grass, green trees, green leaves, green moss, green clover.
I thought I was out of my favorite color of green yesterday.
My muse said “what about that box of green paints behind you?”
This saved me a trip to the store for there were three full tubes of it.
Green is such a nature color, I cannot fathom not having it around.
Especially when I am gearing up for Ireland’s favorite holiday.
My mother was a McCormick. I am in the throes of painting shamrocks,
Irish flags, leprechauns, mushroom houses, ivy, moss; I need green!
Categories:
acrylic, art, color,
Form: Narrative
A shooting star is a blue orchid. At a Christmas party. But never in a fur coat. That would not be operable would it. Nevertheless a swinging peacock could disco dance in radiating beams from a single lamp. Heaping custard onto a crocus in a garden tent. How wise. How adoring. Scorn not a soldier in a basin. And wear ten ties. As it is often officially unsure what style of cloud will be passing. Gypsy skirted tigers sing beautifully and are always well presented. Operatic nerves of a small chimp waving. How quite quaint. Whilst the whipping of the breeze can smile in a teapot frame. Great. Clap then. Monstrous moons make minutes meekly. *** beak not a whale. *** operationally *** ha ha ha xx is a duck a dog? *** hexagonal mineral deposits xxxx aquarium ***
Categories:
acrylic, animal,
Form: I do not know?