The Life of a Canvas
‘Almost doneeee!”
Shade after shade
Your imagined creativity is being transformed without a doubt into reality.
Red, magenta, fuchsia, chromium name it
Hot, featherlight, stern strokes and slaps disdainfully served to a meek linen surface🖌🎨
Abuse and maltreatment; malignment and scandal
Each so-called wave a stab on the cotton support
Used. Rinsed then Dumped.
Punched, struck, danced on with careless abandon
A few times holes are punctured; sometimes, needles are seared; most times, breakfast is served💔
Where is its Oscar for caressing all this cruelty and acting fine? Tis is the fate of the masked white surface- your breathtaking masterpiece.
Yet…
This is not always soðŸ˜
It becometh unknowingly horrendous when the instrument of pain is played by a vile maybe clueless orchestra member.
This woven exterior becomes distastefully vandalized, severely mutilated, staggeringly thrashed, and subtly scorned.
Despicably mishandled and rendered into a meaningless concussion.
Little does one know that this strife is the release of the painter. Where all cries, heart wrenching pain, weights, convictions, beliefs, and messages are being conferred.
Why through the canvas? Why through art?
Because words will be a disservice.
From a plain white plane inept and impotent of conveying a message, now a convincible poetry. But don’t forget the cruel splashes, indecent strokes, rough handling, and the deep waters it undergoes just to make you see a meaning out of it.
Why couldn’t you see its worth before the art?
#Free the canvas
@ThatBlissfulWriter
Constance is an aspiring neurosurgeon with a swelling passion for creative writing.
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