Painting

Mia Winhertt

Canvas in one hand,
Painting paraphernalia in the other,
He walked into the field.
He walked into the perfect setting.

The long grass was swaying
Rhythmically in the wind.
He knew he had to paint it.
He knew exactly how.

The sky was clear and blue
Resembling a calm ocean.
He could feel the emotion.
He could translate the impression.

But once he started painting,
Things started changing.
Not the grass in the least.
Not the sky as expected.

It was his heart
That kept nudging his hands,
To change a little of this,
To change so much of that.

The dancing grass reminded him
Of his love’s hair,
How they danced behind her,
How they seemed to have their own mind.

The clear sky reminded him
Of her perfect smile,
Free from malice,
Free from too much thought.

So how could he paint
The lovely view before him
Just the way it was,
Just that much?

On his canvas,
The green grass became black
And the blue sky became pink.
And the painter retained all else.

He looked at everything he had made
And he was pleased.
Yes, it reminded him of nature.
Yes, it reminded him of her.

40 thoughts on “Painting”

  10. Oh wow this is stunning! As a painter I relate with this process. I start with an idea, but the pain has a life of it’s own and my heart won’t be stopped.

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    Reply

    1. Thank you so much for your appreciation! 🙂
      Glad you could relate to it. I used to also paint years back. But the nuances of a painter’s / artist’s mind have become clearer to me by and by.
      In between, may I please know your name?

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