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Sunday, January 1, 2012

That movie about the artists

Oh to live in the land of canvass and brush strokes
Terra cotta shades and smooth clay figures
Crusty bread and melon on the oak wood table
A slight breeze adding tree branch chatter
To the gentle patio conversation.

There’s a brilliant clarity to the scene
It reminds you of a dream that felt like home
A touch of humidity to spice the mood
Wood smoke merging with cumulus sunset skies
Twisting curlicue designs create the forgotten pattern
Of the time you saw it for the first time.

Oh to live in the land of swirling oil paint
Emotion tracing its transient forms
Bringing the sadness and the joy
Into an exemplary focus
Sneaking into hidden corners
Opening the dusty attic autumn light
Brushing final strokes from the comfort of the courtyard.

There’s an undeniable satisfaction
Even when sharing in solitary
Moving from the image that caught your eye
To its bundled trace in memory’s knapsack
To the scratch and slash and feathered brush
Of color, line, and Dylan’s Arabian drum
Paint spattered on your tee-shirt, on your jeans
You carry the creativity with you
Like a badge, like the fossil record.

Oh to live in that movie about the artists
Even their sadness seems purposefully heroic
Uniting inner isolation with the material world
Even their kitchen table is fascinating
And the pastel walls frame breakfast gracefully
All objects seem designed to inspire
To walk the halls is to dance in beauty
A coat rack is today’s poem
Light splashing the bedroom wall tomorrow’s painting.

Live then, and claim that realm
Find your own director’s chair
I’m cautiously calling for “action” myself
Always surprised when something happens as a result
Sometimes afraid
Sometimes sad
Often grateful
Welcoming the discovery
Of this new life
Godard’s wish for the movie
We secretly wanted to live.