The blank, cold canvas stares back at me.
No gesso to be found.
It mocks me because it thinks I can’t.
A power struggle always exits between the artist and his art.
But, it is My Chance to Dance with Colors.

The smooth, subtle ink flows from my pen, to sketch what could be its actual potential.
My courage allows me to christen the larger than life canvas.
Now, even soft colors seem too harsh to place.
The crispness of the canvas and its stretching is all too commonplace now.
And so, it is My Chance to Dance with Colors.

The thought of moving anywhere but forward is my only possibility now.
The cold claws of what was blankness has consumed me.
The artistic vision has begun,
An imagination creating a beautiful, yet dangerous fire.
I have chosen to Dance with Colors.

That ripe fresh berry, its tight skin pulling until,
The sharpness of teeth has bitten down hard enough for its inevitable explosion.
More is what my mind says,
More is what the berries scream back, daring me to bite again.
The push, the pull, the taunting tone of its endless opportunities.
The Chance to Dance with Colors.