Quandary

There is a Quandary

The hardest part of writing is the words

The hardest part of singing is the song

The hardest part of painting is the canvas.

 

It a gray day, I look for guidance, for inspiration

I am an Artist, you see

I take the mundane and make it unique

I tell you what to think and what to see

That that blue sky means happiness

Or that that tiny bug means hope

These things are there, but the Artist makes them live.

 

My toil is a difficult one.

For while I work alone

I hear my self critique

Loud and clear

 

To give you insight into the world

To show you something that is there, but hidden

We each need to look deep into ourselves

And find that special voice

 

Words on a paper,

Nothing more than that

By themselves they do not mean anything

Yet together, they give everything meaning!

 

The Artist lives in the quandary

Doubt and confusion are my friends

This way or that way, I do not know.

For there are no road signs.

 

There is no painting without a canvas

There is no song without a tune

There is no story without the words

 

How to put them together

How to make them see

How to make them live

 

That is the Quandary

That is the art

That is my fate.