A Master And Her Piece

At the time we met, I did not know I was creating art.
That the piece I was working on was one worthy of the Gods.
That ones who had ever laid hands on my body and my mind were too angelic and of another realm.

At the time we met, I was not yet familiar with my canvas.
Unattended to the materials with which I had chosen to work.

In our time together, I became aware of just how inexperienced of an artist I was.
My hands in the clay - like a baby’s in the mud.
Armed with criticism for every flick of my wrist.

In our time together I was humbled, seeing the error in my ways.
As I held up my works, next to the image of perfection in head.
“This should be blue - not red.”
Until the sound of my own voice poisoned every brush.

At the time we left one another - the masterpiece began to lift the veil from my eyes…slowly.
Poison was slowly removed in her presence, as she shard with me the depth of my feeling in every stroke.
She shared with me the joy of using a tool that destroys along side a tool that builds and one that shapes.
She shared with me the nurture within a light graze and the violence within a splatter.

In our time apart, I noticed she had been shaping me - molding me into a masterpiece.
The subtlety with which she revealed her works was that of a very great, very old master.

In our time apartment, I came to the awareness; just as much as I am her creator and she my creation, I too am her creation and she my creator.

In My time, I see more clearly, more viscerally the vastness of my mastery.
I see now more than ever I have always been the artist, the art, the materials and the way.

--Jazmen M., Adult