The Artist

Always in a state of repair

Wipe the slate

Driven to continue

Longing rings from far off

Echoes in the heart

When asked

What is so hard

About making a painting

The answer is

The beginning

The middle

The end

I think about it

I do not have the key

My only answer is

The artist must continue

She begins when she enters

The room that is her studio


It will not be laid out for her

No instructions

She must find her own way

Through the no-s

Brush away any tears


In the middle

She may have lost her way

No memory of

What inspired her

And has no idea

How to navigate

The artist often

Doesn’t even know

When the end is reached

The last chance

To speak clearly

To mesh the piece

Into a whole

Through the process

She will grow

She will become

The artist


repair, slate, time, driven, think, night, no

mesh, tear, room, longing, key, become

I have heard it declared that “painting is dead,” and yet I find I continue to paint, finding new and different ways to “say” what it is to be alive, to continue the old “dance.”   Elisabeth Tova Bailey says, “The evolution of our species is inextricably tied to making,” I say, it is tied to painting.  It records mystery, history, and the skills of our past.

Painting is a visual language.  A language that is fluent, when words are not sufficient.  It is not only about reality, but also about dreams, feelings, and things that cannot be spoken, for there are no words.  Painting comes into existence in stillness, silence and isolation.  It has the ability to be infinite in its’ meanings.  It can hold different meanings for each who sees it and still another meaning for the one who creates it.



Poets United

A Day Without You

The taste on my tongue

Is metal

Bright and shiny

My stomach




Like the workings

Of a large

Ancient clock

The blood has ceased

To flow

There is no pulse


Sadness seeps

Into every crook and cranny

Like desert seeps

Hardly noticeable

Slowly running down the face

Of a dark canyon

Colors my world grey

Long to break through

The caul

Discover sun

On my cheek

Warm as your kiss

Killing sadness


July 21, 2013





17 thoughts on “July 21, 2013 Sunday Whirl #118/Poets United

  1. ha just the beginning middle and end…smiles…used to paint all the time….havent done it in a year or two…its def not easy to do right and takes technique and skill but also vision…and you do grow through the process…

  2. I think the same is true of the writing process–especially in the longer works–novels and novellas–when do you know you are done–and how do we not get lost in the rewrites–

  3. “like the workings of a large ancient clock”…! So beautiful the line “slowly running down the face of a dark canyon.” Beautiful visuals in this poem and a felt sadness.

  4. Agree with Pamela – without art we are no longer human! Your second poem is achingly sad. It moved me greatly! Reread to savor it again!

  5. I would hate to think that painting ever did die. It’s such a wonderful form of expression, of allowing the viewer a chance to glimpse into an artist’s soul.

  6. I agree with you whole-heartedly on painting. Annell these poems are stunning that second one was just AMAZING! I really loved it =) Like is inadequate here I love it =)

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