THE ARTIST

Painting is an enigma to me. But Austin, all serious,
stands back frowning and mumbling to himself
as though he equates each finished piece with self-worth.
He is fully immersed in his latest endeavour, brush
flitting from palette to canvas, canvas to palette;
perfecting highlight, shading, skintone, eyes.
Anticipation of the final hanging
spurs him on - but not too quickly
for the pleasure of the completed masterpiece,
all beauty and sensuality, is well worth waiting for
with it's vibrant life in every brush stroke.

Where does the compulsion originate I wonder -
to be so fanatical a perfectionist
instead of just a regular man? He is a visionary,
a colour blender, a master craftsman,
an illusion maker and so on and so on.
From handmade frame to position on wall
he is sole creator, my multi talented
other half, my constantly distracted Soul Mate.

The brush moves in patterns I can't quite fathom:
long strokes, short strokes, feathering, blending,
faster than the eye can follow, leaving me breathless.
He's oblivious to everything around him. I could be
a million miles away, or not even exist at all.

His present inspiration is abstract: the product
of an incredibly fertile mind - and an insular lifestyle
of missed assignations and unopened mail.
It never ceases to amaze me
how the original barely there sketch
grows moment-by-moment into something
infinitely greater than the sum total
of it's components. Every atom of his being
is poured into each individual labour of love.

I can't get my head around artistic talent,
but it is undoubtedly a form of genius
when you think about it - creative imagination
transformed into something so visually arresting.
I guess the real beauty is in the translation:
the individual significance, depending upon each beholder's
interpretation of lines, spaces, patterns and symmetry.

Strange to observe those weathered hands
with their rough patches and pronounced veins
as they perform their delicate and precise motions
over hours, over days, over weeks and months.
It is asking too much, I know,
to hold his attention for any longer
than five minutes in a day.
Ah...such is the life of an Artist's wife!