The Artist's Dilemma

The wind blew in and the wind blew out

And it surged around the eaves,

The door out to the patio slammed

And the yard filled up with leaves,

Then Susan sighed, ‘There’s goes my ride,

I was going to take the mare,

Now what can we do on a Sunday when

The wind’s so wild out there?’

 

Her aunt lay back on the couch and stared

At me, with her doe-black eyes,

Not much older than Susan, she

Was Venus, in disguise,

Her fingers ran through her coal-black hair

And her hand smoothed down her thigh,

‘Why don’t you ask the artist, dear,

Before his paints run dry.’

 

I’d finished painting the background in

Of the leaves that swirled in the air,

But put my palette aside and turned

To look for her meaning there,

Then Susan laughed, as she always did:

‘Do you mean that you’d be game?

I’ve only modelled alone before

But two? It would be insane!’

 

Imelda slowly uncurled herself

Rose steadily to her feet,

‘I’ll be the older matron, while

You shall be young, and sweet.’

I shrugged, effecting a nonchalance

That I didn’t really care,

But said, ‘Okay, I can paint you,

Put your clothes on the old armchair.’

 

I played about with my palette, mixed

The tones in a kind of blush,

Squeezed the Titanium White, and mixed

It in with the tip of my brush,

And when I finally turned around

They were stood, stark naked there,

I said, ‘Clasp hands, then back to back,

And Sue, let down your hair.’

 

I’d painted my wife a thousand times

So I knew each curve and line,

But Imelda, this was the first I’d seen

And I caught my breath in time,

Her black hair over her shoulders and

Her breasts, so firm and white,

Her hips the marvel of womanhood

And her thighs - a man’s delight!

 

I turned on back to the easel, tried

To steady my shaking hand,

I thought of myself as an artist,

Underneath it, I was a man!

And Imelda caught a glimpse of that

As her lips curled in a smile,

She knew that my heart was pounding,

But my lust would wait for a while.

 

That painting hangs on the passage wall

And visitors stare in awe,

At the vision of womanly beauty

That the eyes of the artist saw,

And Imelda bridles at compliments

Then gives me the evil eye,

She’s often said, there’s a place in bed,

But I shake my head, with a sigh!

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[spiritwind]

Your poetry, as always, is impecable. This time you led the reader through a gamut of emotions and thoughts as temptation seized the artist. Very sensual yet saying nothing at all lurid... just alluring. Beautiful and, in the end, noble. Women love a man with such great self control so much so that he is allowed his sighs.

[Androglossia]

While art celebrates the human figure, God’s greatest creation in a non-sexual way, it is not impossible for a professional artist that's a human to feel sexual response when facing nude models. Not because of seeing a woman’s body fully unclothed but bceause the careful concealing of the human figure and the form of poses chosen for the session produces a sexual response. One of my closest friends who paints from the nude once told me that once a woman’s body is fully unclothed and still, the sexual response is significantly decreased. Well, I'm not sure about that but what I said here is only based from the things that I've heard. Thank you for sharing this wonderful write, Sir. Your work never ceases to amaze me.

[Marie]

Turning down an invitationlike that can't be easy. But perhaps an artist gets as much out of a woman's beauty by painting it as he would be possessing it.

[Enid Blake]

Well good on the artist for remaining faithful! Beautiful poem :)

[David Scott]

The "sing song" flow of the poem hides the weighty questions that the title warns of. An artist, by definition, is a creator. The "dilemma" presented here is not even as obvious as the lust of a man for a woman. The creator of art is moved not only by what he/she observes, but even more so by what he/she imagines. The dilemma that the poet presented to my mind here was not as light as the poetry would have my heart sing. When beauty is used up and "tasted" out of a context of creating more beauty, the artist is simply spoiling it. How can the artist who in his/her heart loves to create, difile the object of their inspiration (both the wifes trust and the young womans youth). Yet in being an artist, how can one not be drawn, almost to the the point of madness to explore and experience... The "sigh" is all that is left to the artist because he does love "art" even more than his own desires. Oh that this world had more true artists and less who indulge without conscience! (plus, did anyone else get that Susan was his niece??? ha)

[Muse]

Her aunt lay back on the couch and stared
At me, with her doe-black eyes,
Not much older than Susan, she
Was Venus, in disguise,

I read so much magic in those four lines...beautiful penning!

[That_Girl]

The writing is fluid and you took the reader through an emotion filled story. Nicely done.

[Mic]

Probably much more satisfaction in knowing what could be had than the buyer's remorse of having had it.

Excellent!

[emmy bon]

yes is true...some artist life for you... nice penned sir

[Leigh]

Many an artist has gone astray like this, great story and poem