Authentically, inescapably me
Life is like art-
I know precisely what I want to create:
Intricate canvases,
Each line and brush stroke
So precise as to be indistinguishable
From a photograph,
Colours melting together
As seamlessly as a sunset,
Landscapes so lifelike
You could step into them
And disappear over the hills
To run wild along the horizon,
I can picture it all so clearly,
But I cannot make it real-
For no matter how careful I am,
How much time I take,
Or how much control I attempt to exert,
My vision never reflects the reality,
But is merely an approximation of it-
Photo-realistic concepts become dreamlike
When translated from head to paper,
Impressionism seeps in
Like water through cracks,
Ideas mutating into something fantastical
Despite my best efforts,
It seems I am incapable
Of remaining grounded in realism
However much I might want to-
Life is like art-
Colours do not always blend
The way I want them to,
Or my hand slips,
Leaving a permanent smudge or indent,
Where I try to erase my mistake,
Sometimes it is only afterwards
That I realise my dimensions are off,
Or that bristles have come away
And are now fossilised
Beneath layers of paint,
Irretrievable without ruining everything,
And there is nothing to do
But let the imperfections be-
Sometimes I still hear him,
He echoes in my head
After all these years-
‘Your lines are too thick,’
‘Don’t press so hard,’
‘Your use of colour is too bold,’
He wanted me to be different,
Delicate, more refined,
More like him and less like myself,
A tick in a box,
A set of criteria,
But my art has always been
A reflection of me,
And for that I will never be sorry-
My colours are bold,
Because I am bold,
They are sometimes blended,
Sometimes blocky,
Sometimes both,
My lines are symbolic
Of clear boundaries,
A refusal to blend in,
To vanish into the background,
My character becomes one
With pencil and paint,
My imagination crystallising
Into colours, lines and shapes,
My essence distilled onto paper-
I could not strip myself from my art
Any more than I could sprout wings,
My finished works are
Mirrors to my life,
Some aspects are perfect-
Precisely what I envisioned,
Others are not,
But I have accepted them,
This combination of the perfect
And the imperfect never fails
To yield something that is unique,
That no one else could ever produce,
For the simple reason that it is
Authentically, inescapably me.
