In the the end it is not the paint.
The colors.
the lines,
or carefully crafted brush strokes.
It is the layers,
one on the other
as they compliment or clash
making a masterpiece
or madness.

Sometimes, if you are lucky,
you capture both.

About this poem

Sometimes my art and my poetry converge.

This one is about art. About poetry. About life.

As much as we would like it to be, nothing is as simple as it seems.

The photograph is a detail from one of my paintings. Sometimes I like the details as much as the whole painting.


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