Today is a stretching sort of day.
One of grasping and leaning far over the handlebars.
A searching and yearning kind of day.
Looking for a distant image that is here
somewhere.
Feeling it push the brush
Feeling it pull through the pigments
Feeling it dilute color
and wash out edges.
It pushes through me as well.
It is feels hot inside
like a bad taco.
It feels explosive
like carbonation.
It is uncorked
like that bottle of red
that is breathing.
When it tears through the web of
my skin
and enters the images on that canvas
staring at me
I feel it emerge.
I feel it grow on the canvas and become
something that is
real to me.
If no one else sees it
it may be okay.
If no one else feels it
I do.
The ART thing is so alive inside
that is pushes under my finger nails
and grows longer than
arms
or sleeves with thumb holes.
I need to explore it
and want it as much as it wants me.
I need to unleash it
and feel it burst forth without fear of any thing.
But most of all
no fear of judgment
or viewing by others.
When they do not understand it
I gently laugh to myself.
They may have no idea
but I do.
And my ART must be
so I take the force
and let it go.
And bear the consequences.
