An Artist Gives Birth Or
Why A Child Is Like A Painting © 2018 Tom Greggs
Having applied and sanded coats of primer
And prepared colors for the expected date
Put in supplies of brushes, oils and thinners
Still it's a profound shock to begin a painting
There is so much chance of failure
A plan or idea can disappear in a moment
Not returning for years, if ever, and we are
Only given so many in a lifetime
The idea grows beyond a seed, sprouting
As lines are marked out on canvas
Pigments selected and mixed, the frame
Braced and corners checked for square
When a painting starts to come together
It gives off a smell to its author like talcum
Or soured milk but in a good way—it announces
The arrival of something that cannot be ignored
It stands, this new thing, with its own language
It begins to look and act like its author
And begins to make demands on an audience
new to these audacious expressions
And as time goes by you see the genius
The sinuous lines or the strong, proud lines
As beautiful and baffling as a shooting star
Or a late night call saying the car is wrecked
This is art that cannot be kept under lock
That will move out to its own apartment
And maybe not call for weeks at a time
That will be loved by unknown others
But you will have your truth which is that
The heart you have placed into this work
Lives and gives off a new kind of light
Found in forms shaped by your hand
Why A Child Is Like A Painting © 2018 Tom Greggs
Having applied and sanded coats of primer
And prepared colors for the expected date
Put in supplies of brushes, oils and thinners
Still it's a profound shock to begin a painting
There is so much chance of failure
A plan or idea can disappear in a moment
Not returning for years, if ever, and we are
Only given so many in a lifetime
The idea grows beyond a seed, sprouting
As lines are marked out on canvas
Pigments selected and mixed, the frame
Braced and corners checked for square
When a painting starts to come together
It gives off a smell to its author like talcum
Or soured milk but in a good way—it announces
The arrival of something that cannot be ignored
It stands, this new thing, with its own language
It begins to look and act like its author
And begins to make demands on an audience
new to these audacious expressions
And as time goes by you see the genius
The sinuous lines or the strong, proud lines
As beautiful and baffling as a shooting star
Or a late night call saying the car is wrecked
This is art that cannot be kept under lock
That will move out to its own apartment
And maybe not call for weeks at a time
That will be loved by unknown others
But you will have your truth which is that
The heart you have placed into this work
Lives and gives off a new kind of light
Found in forms shaped by your hand