Painting 101

The air it smells of turpentine and paint
Metal skeletons wait in anticipation
An odd old bird is painting in the corner
The pupils sit in a crescent and wait
Despondent and forgotten dried paint
Mark surfaces they should have never met

I've never greeted the famous oil
And hope the meeting I do not spoil
Will it find me worthy
And take up with me favor
That I may greet it now
And fully befriend it later?

Propped against marked white walls
Are works of greatness
That call to the eye and yell down the halls

There are brushes that wear their history out loud
And rolls of cloth possibility staring out of dark holes
Masking tape marks valuable real estate
I've entered the ranks with a black sharpie pen
A club or a calling that has no name
That can send you away at the blink of an eye
And at shifting whim call you back once again

Cold and cruel
Or putty in your hands
Here there is no school
And there are no plans
It can be everything you want
And nothing all the same
Do you control the paint?
Or does the paint control you?
Does it matter either way?
There's nothing you can do

Just hold your tubes of paint and pray
That you will be a better artist tomorrow
Than you are today.

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