Pentimento

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The canvas is smeared

The purity

The perfection

No more.

The tainted splatter

Plastered without reason

Without pattern

Without aim

Random.

Every idea; half-finished

Every thought; incomplete

Inspiration inconsistent

Frustration boils

Eventually overflows.

My preparations amount to zero

This was to be my stamp in history

My Mona Lisa

My Starry Night

Oil on cottonwood

Atmospheric illusionism

Yet each stroke is a countdown to my failure

A countdown until I admit defeat.

The running ink taunts me

Jeering its remarks in silence

Inching further down the boards end

Then permanently dries resembling reproach.

Curse you!

Again I strike the cloth

Then again…

And again…

Each time fueled with anger and self-pity

Again…

And again…

Watching colors unveil

Blending into another

I empty myself with each stroke

Every doubt

All inhibitions

Until somewhere in between

The daub of paint

And mental fatigue

I watch on from my mind’s eye

Escaped from my being

As my hands take over - Doing as they please

Everything I attempted emerges as one

Combining my pain of confusion and disorder.

Until finally

I am satisfied

This is my masterpiece.

Olsfred James 2015©