I have not cleaned up my
paints from the last time I stood here.
A half-done masterpiece
awaits my attention, yet standing here I see the art within the disarray of my
supplies.
That, perhaps, is my
shortcoming. The messiness of life
presents itself to my artistic vision as the art.
I have painted a smiling
Apache. It is not something usually seen
in nature. Each used paint brush
protruding from the jar reflects feather colors. The frayed bristle strands, like the
disordered edges of the feathers, point awkwardly at my intention.
From where the palette now
sets, I will paint no more – forever.
Artist note:
The plight of the Native American precluded previous images such as this. It is not my attempt to make light of, nor lessen to any degree their situation.