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
It is still 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 sour milk
Or a full diaper but in a good way—it announces
The arrival of something that cannot be ignored


It stands on its own, with its own language
And in fact 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 eyes shaped by your hand