Sometimes I find myself caught in the movement of things.
The way a river courses through rocks,
The way rain drops race down my window,
The way feet move to the rhythm of a song,
But I find myself most caught in the way paint flows across a canvas.
I’m caught in the action of watercolor sinking into the crevices of the canvas, and how it wrinkles paper.
I’m caught by the drooping glops of acrylic that slide across the white.
I’m caught by the oil that blends into the color before it.
I didn’t know when I first started painting just how much I loved that,
Where the bristles of the brush swivel to mix the paint that glides upon my canvas with ease.
And suddenly one color becomes another, and you have a finished piece.