Sculpting With Words

writing, beauty in art, creativity

Paper blank before me, stark whiteness of unwritten words, a masterpiece of nothing waiting to be brought forth. I sit admiring the art forms so beautifully expressed here in the museum. Colors, brushed hues applied over canvas once blank, very like the paper I hold. Every piece a narrative of pigments blended with strokes individual to each artist, given birth with master's touch. Marble sculptures loom in iced perfection; chiseled, hewed, whittled to flawlessness. Each a dream in the creator's mind. I am but a poor twist of lonely artist among the gifts of genius, inadequate in company of souls long gone. Words come slowly. I coax them forth gently, nibbling pen and dreaming of compositions yet unseen. My pen; the brush, the chisel of my mind's eye calls forth the beauty that surrounds me. An imperfect artisan, pen in hand, I scrape forth the strokes which call the words, turning the white starkness into running waves of thought, desire, laughter and pain. I sculpt with words.