I came across an old video of a man. He donned an auburn permed hairdo and a button-down woven tucked into his trousers. He held a giant palette on one hand and a brush in the other. I remember him from my childhood. He was the painter on TV.
Nostalgia rushing all over, I watched as he stained the once bare stretched canvas with blots of pigments. The soft sound of each criss-crossed brushstroke tickled my ears. I was gravely entranced as he masterfully blended a dozen colors together to create a cloudy twilight sky, a wooden bridge, tall evergreen trees, and a calm, cerulean river.
Half an hour gone by, he put down his brush and stepped back to let his audience from the other side of the screen admire his finished work. I was breathless; it was like I just discovered joy for the first time.
I felt a burning sensation on my left hand; it desperately wanted to paint too. Maybe this is what the Christians mean when they say man was created in the likeness of God.
09.17.18
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A/N: The painting above is one I made while watching one of Bob Ross' The Joy of Painting episodes, Splendor of Autumn. I tried. >___<
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In the Wee Small Hours
PoésieLittle thoughts in prose, song and poetry. (Previously titled 'Raconteur') Copyright © 2018 by @janeoswyn. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photoc...
