Updated: Feb 25
I tend to find poetry in quiet spaces shadowed by the rhythm of morning that graces my mind with soft color and imagery. I yield to the beauty within my mind’s eye and to the outside sounds of a summer’s day. The buzzing bees and swaying wind hum together as passing thoughts. Painting seems the only thing to do to capture the depth of what I feel.
Strokes of red paint catch on to the rhythm and yield to the shape of a single poppy swirling across the canvas. Wide, feathery and bold hues swiftly slide over the background that holds everything in place for the poppy to blossom in the painting.
Poppin’ hot color
pleasures fingertip to brush
becomes the daydream.