Throwing fate to the zealous zephyrs
an artist does, though rarely supported
and though the artist’s life crumbles about
from neglecting life's practical bouts
there is ever one last word to write
one last intriguing scene to paint
one last soaring note to compose-
for that is what an artist does.
Where an artist did, an artist was
though forever disdained by family and friends
who never perceived an artist at all-
just an impractical spirit engaging in
what they had desired for themselves,
and thus are challenged to acknowledge it…
Sad, every ten people should have at least one artist
that they all support; but alas
jealousy and nature being what it is,
not to mention their idea of what an artist is
corrupted by shallow sensationalism
has thus far prevented us from such a culture…
So what becomes of an artist’s life?
the message is as clear as the art itself-
tossed to the winds,
crumbling to dust,
it does not matter when an artist has done
what an artist does.
What then, when neatly shuttled away
and shorn of the tools an artist uses,
is an artist to do what an artist does?
It does not matter, an artist does
what artists will do
with whatever's at hand
wherever the artist is…
Perhaps it is a mystery of the heart
sharing and expressing vision and thought;
perhaps it is contained in the artist’s eyes
that spreads through those who’ve been touched
by the artist who does what an artist does.
For individual glory an artist does not,
as a speck in society an artist does;
painting a mural on the wall of souls
encountered, remembered, touched, forgotten
yet living
in what the artist does.
There is always one, last magical touch
left in an artist’s fingers and soul
though reduced to sculpting mashed potatoes-
because an artist will do what an artist does.
I thank the Lord for allowing my family
for tolerating what this artist has been,
for when the creative spirit frolics free
the artist is not mindful of practicality
quite the way the others will be-
therein lies to price that is paid
for an artist to do what an artist does.
Never losing the twinkle in the eye,
always seeing the world in ways that defy
the imaginations of more practical minds-
though set low on the rungs of social strata
because their lives are strewn in disarray
artists will do what artists do
just because they've been shaped that way…
Even as I write, life conspires
to pull me away from this unwritten page,
from the virgin canvas begging a scene,
from the musical staves that shout in silence
for thoughts emotions, ecstasies, pain,
for visions and paths not yet imagined...
and yet I do what an artist does
at a sacrifice to myself and those in my life-
so I do understand, and thank them for their silent support
as this artist does what an artist does.
On a lighter note, for one can take
only so much sober, solemn fare-
an artist does funny things to one's hair…
So if those close are having a challenge
perceiving you as the artist you are-
just light up their lives with some artist’s hair…
they will then understand that an artist will do
whatever it is an artist does
without further questions, though with reserved stares…
Yes, you may eventually be locked away,
but they’ll always come around to see what you've done
as you do that which an artist will do
as a yet-living artist who still actively does…
Now with your new-found artist’s hair
you’ve created new-found expectations-
all art-bound, which is great for you-
as you inevitably do what an artist does
with whatever you have at your disposal-
be it knives and spoons, or mashed potatoes,
or bed sheets, brooms, carts, tray tables…
an artist’s palette is never bare
when an artist is doing what an artist does...
Well, I have just fifteen more minutes
to continue doing what an artist does,
then Practicality will haul me away
thinking I’ll hold off being an artist for another day…
little does it know how an artist does
the creative little things that an artist does
at whatever life-sustaining task the artist must do
that seemingly takes away the creative time
in which an artist does what an artist will do-
for no one is just an artist alone,
isolated, creating within a box-
as life seeps in, art comes out
in the creations that result from what an artist will do.
So time ticks on, bringing an end
to this end-result of what an artist does…
I bid thee adieu, my artist friend,
next time we meet it will be in a place
where artists are doing what an artist does.
Check him out.
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