The artist insideWhen I whistle a tune, I am that tune.
When I draw a tree, I am a tree.
I become what I do, Iím no longer me.
If I paint an old lady, I know her thoughts.
If I paint a dog, I donít like cats.
Only my thoughts are mine.
I create new thoughts.
But if I draw an apple, I become that apple.
If I donít become what I do, itís only art.
If my art is to hold a meaning, it has to be me.
I look around and see art without feeling, meaning, emotion, love, hate or creativity.
filling the galleryís I visit.
Empty canvasís covered in paint.
Paint is not enough, it needs the painter inside, looking out.
I'm looking at you now, reading these words.
Can you feel me?
Poetry by Mick Bean
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Written on 2018-06-26 at 01:06
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