The Smiling Apache

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.

 

 Yes, I know Chief Joseph was not Apache

(Poetic license #87736)

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.    

 Nuff said.