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Bard
02-06-2006, 12:53 AM
'The Artists Canvas'



The Artists Canvas-by Rod Bohen

6-6-1999

The artist canvas lay blank, stark and white, as the painter lays hand to brush, he enters his world, the canvas invites color, the canvas both seductive and demanding, he who creates is peeked and full of fury, anticipation and wonderment as he splashes the first color most representing his heartone for the moment, the rest awaits him in moment to moment surprise as he boldly puts brush to canvas compelled of heart and on fire with painted passion, he races to perform the dictate of heart and cry of soul, his whole being melting gently and colliding in volatile fashion all at once onto and into the canvas, the very framework and carriage of his heart is being welded into the canvas as he is equally imbued by the journey of brush and spectacle of color, a lifetime of images sweep through his mind, an equal life-ful of emotions hurricane around in his mind and heart as he continues to race towards the canvas as if it represented a maiden clothed and arrayed in beauty arms open and inviting.

Engulfed completely, could not stop upon command nor would he, not once plagued by who shall embrace it or not, for he who wields the brush in order to sweep the caravans of his heart upon the canvas splashes and creates for himselú He dismisses all etiquette and proper display of normality and baptizes himself into this creation of wonderment and beauty, an exploratory excursion of my heart to canvas! How amusing he remarks to himselú as he mutters and splashes and curses and shouts in triumphant display accompanied many times by abstract, curious, wild, and unrecognizable gesticulations.

Time has been absent and void from the moment the brush sweetly embraced the canvas and became one, mans heart splashed on canvas, now theirs a monument to mankind muttered the animated holder of the brush. Pondering and embracing with his twinkleing eye always the ramifications and responsibility of each stroke and pass of the driven hand, brush clutched in desperate passion and intenseness.

Madly in love always with the intoxicating colors of his hearts mind. loving what's unfolding and being displayed to his eye even as it churns and changes before his very eyes, alas the wonderment of it all exclaims the impassioned author of the canvas.

Hours pass oflost time and realm, a different dimension has taken captive our spreader of the colors, he now climatically sighs and fall into a heap realizing the time and season of creation has now been spent. The fire of heart beyond stokeing,remains a soft amber glow as he views and meets his heart on canvas, the creation of the deep with~ him, a world of words upon canvas. So if a stranger afar shall one day gaze upon my heart on canvas and be stirred in heart, or shaken in being, or lost in softness, they shall have indeed laid their hand upon my heart, and I theirs.