When I was six, fine are meant
rainbow Popsicle stick turkeys,
clinging to our refrigerator door.
"It's beautiful." my mom would say
each time I brought a new masterpiece
to add to the collage of almost identical
brother and sister birds.
But then, everything changed, because,
when I was ten, fine art meant no art.
I had used up all my artistic juices,
maxed out my credit card to
Le Grands Magasin de l'Art.
I learned that my finger painting wasn't
as good as Renee's family portrait,
with Kajtek, her dog, flying above their heads.
I learned that a rainbow and clouds
just wasn't daring enough, anymore.
So today, I'm going to snap out the old
Popsicle sticks, the 64 pack of unused Crayola crayons,
and the miracle working Elmer's glue.
Maybe I'll be fine at art again.
i haven't written in a long time, so cut me some slack.
Comments
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ahhh you know i love this. The ending is great and i love the details. Brings me back to my old fine art days..
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sometimes you need to go to a full stop before comming back in power...just act how you feel and greatness will be unveiled...
great piece
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If it's anything like your writing, it'll be hanging in a gallery by March!
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