Sketching

In a pencil, there exists an entire universe,

A universe much greater than my own.

It contains no Where or When

Only What and Why.

There, light and dark are interchangeable,

Sound and sight are the same,

Gravity and time are optional,

And dimensions span far beyond three.

On paper, there are no rules.

No walls or signs or fences

All are welcome.

This universe can freely enter

And colonize the page like fireworks,

A single point producing a blinding force

Pulsing against gravity,

Dancing into the darkness.

The paper patiently waits for the first stroke;

Ideas flash like an endless string of lightning

In my head, racing toward my fingers

Before they vanish into the earth.

The pencil makes its choice; I never question

How

I only follow.

And an unbound, uninterrupted world is born.

In moments,

Tastes and sounds are given shape,

Feelings are observed

And felt.

A shape, a shadow, or a lack of such,

Opens a window to another state of mind.

Everything can be anything.

Relying on impulse,

Feeling,

A line produces a face

Or spreads into a web

A dot sprouts into a petal,

Or a chair, or a cloud.

A nothing becomes a something

And a something becomes a something else

Or a something more.

Swoop or streak, dash or dot, right or left,

The world grows and shrinks in a

Single flash of grey.

Art is an ongoing journey.

The pencil provides a path,

And I try to keep up with my feet.

Whatever pace, whatever terrain,

I’ll find my destination when I arrive.

I only have to

Go.