The Artist

An old artist prepares for a long day ahead,

Completing another commission,

He’ll have to work hard ‘til the lantern blinks out,

For talent falls short of ambition.

-

A beautiful woman is waking upstairs

Composing herself for descent,

Into dutiful daughter and hostess alike,

That will keep her father content.

-

Allocating his daughter a place of her own,

To dabble in painting at will,

Keeps her eyes from the farming boys,

And allows his mind to be still.

-

A lady of eighteen or so thereabouts,

Flutters in with petticoats swaying,

Places a vase of daisies beside her,

All set for a new day of playing.

-

He deliberates over which hue to choose,

While nibbling his brush at the tip,

With more paint on his fingers than paper already,

And a fleck of it left on his lip.

-

The young lady waltzes to music unheard,

With her brush in her hand like a feather,

She caresses the colours with natural flair,

And paper and paint sing together.

-

The aging master calculates shades,

Pressure, thickness, direction,

Hunched over his easel day after day,

Chasing artistic perfection.

-

Elegant curves and shading sublime,

From tubing, to palette, to knife,

The light she creates breathes depth to her piece,

Enchanting the paper to life.

-

His hand is slow and his paper is taut,

Poised with determined precision,

To nudge at paint specks, this way and that,

‘Til he’s done by his own indecision.

-

She sweeps with a flourish and flicker of white—

Makes a marvellous sight to behold,

She wonders about showing her father her joy,

But knows his response will be cold.

-

He signs the corner in his finest script,

Rests his brush upright in the jar,

And steadily pulls himself to his feet,

To find fault with his work from afar.

-

She happily rolls up her tools for the day,

Her masterpiece offered no name,

And she scrunches and tosses it into the hearth,

Which blindly sets it aflame.

-

The same will take place on the morrow again,

And so forth as the seasons shift,

A father not seeing his true work of art,

And a girl never knowing her gift.