For too long,
This block of marble sat stagnant,
But now chisel has been put to stone.
Blind to a vision,
Each strike of the mallet
Chips away unrefined rock,
Building sediment on the floor.
The intent remains to sculpt
Until some form takes shape—
No matter how long it takes—
Even if the only admiring eyes
Are the tearful artist’s own.
1 comments:
Sorry for being away from the blog. I was drained. It was killing me. Thanks for getting it going (I owe Peter a thank you as well). I think that you hit on something crucial here. Many artists, poets, writers, etc. never show their work to anyone. I mean before this blog my work hardly saw the light of day and the beauty isn't so much in the finished product, but in creating the work. Regardless of who or how many see it.
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