Bare in the studio
pieces of shattered reflection
alone in front of her canvas,
she is the Mother of creation
without giving birth—no
distended belly or ripe breasts.
Concentration on hand and brush
on technique and value.
There is confession into this canvas
of her life. She is absorbed, unabashed.
No audience or gallery, just artist and
medium. It is she who glows
the work of creation remains hidden
under careful placement and delicate arms.
The easel knows, but isn't telling.
3/7/10
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