The Creative Process
The canvas is blank, no image portrayed.
Emptiness fills its frame. Eyes cannot see
When there’s nothing to see: strokes not yet made.
Visions, creations, o, when will they be?
The palette waits for the artist to choose
As colors create a mood. Is it gay?
Is it somber? Does it seek to amuse?
What mysteries does this rainbow convey?
O, Artist, start painting. What stops you, friend?
Your brushes lie waiting, each scrubbed and clean.
Your easel is calling, your craft to tend.
Artist, create! Let your soul be serene.
Creative instincts, oft hard to find,
Born not on paper but inside the mind.by Candyce Nathanson-Goldstein