Sophia Paints

A poem I wrote while watching Sophia paint a mural on a wall. The painting is featured as the photo for this poem.

Hair tied up tightly behind her ears,

she bites her bottom lip as she steps back,

legs slightly apart in a stance of concentration.

Her work slowly blooms under her hand,

brushes and pencils weaving in an intricate dance.

Through art she bridges her reality,

losing herself in every modicum of beautiful detail.

We watch,

lost in the art transforming before us.

She is unaware of our presence,

lost in her paints and graphite.

She takes another step back,

sighing as she sees her imperfections,

things we see as trademarks of herself.

But this is her expression,

her very soul being poured out on plaster and drywall.

She's allowed to be critical.

Whispered curses escape her lips,

as flaws suddenly become beautiful traits,

under her artful eye.

She stands back,

finished.

But she also has so far to go,

because in completing this piece,

she has added just a single stroke to her most important piece of all.

Herself.

 

Reviews

[Laura E. Aranda]

wow
i just wanted this poem to go on and on.
i really really liked it and felt like an invited guest to watch ....
thank you
cheers, lea

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i love the visual arts, in fact i love all the arts... i mean Art. you captured the artistry of the artist. there are lessons in this work that all of us should take away. to be the artist you must become the Art. great idea and poem.