Art

Art is subjective I pick up the pen scribbling out fine lines tracing the edge with my finger enhancing each portrait with open pores, paint covering every mistake the eraser became my best friend shavings covering more of the canvas than color has adding each layer of material I wish to create a vibrancy an excitement in these pieces but It always ends up black and white catching myself revolving around small detail instead of the big picture casting shadows among the page the brush doesn't speak as it used to my picture hasn't sung in a long time i purchase new paints hoping the outcome is different searching for a place to add a little more depth a little more blue or green yet I fall into the same pattern the same effortless routine I can't shack this block I have this lostness and craving for it to come alive maybe someday there will be a meaning maybe someday this art will find purpose maybe someday I can finally add a silver lining