Self-Portrait
I was sketched lightly in an instant,
rough charcoal fingertips deciding where to put my eyes,
the optimism of a smile
and skin white, without impression or fade.
I lay in the wake of life and let the elements wash over me
like watercolour, gentle at first,
but soon sodden in frustration,
a gaping hole torn through my centre.
But I keep going, mount my portrait on black card,
and the hole in my centre is now gapingly obvious.
I let the page absorb the cloudy water,
harden,
and paint the blurred face in thick oil, building layers upon my skin –
Steady, vibrant lines that climb out of the page.
I shade, staining my hands, wiping my brow,
a smear of dirt on my face the same as on hers.
Charcoal drops fingerprints on my art, and I
mutate –
fuller,
louder,
more me than ever before.
I bend over the easel, and keep drawing.
By Martha Everitt
January 2013
No comments:
Post a Comment