Art is in the sleight of the wand that
In rapid strokes, in steady deliberate
Strokes, in contemplative non-strokes,
Illustrates what was lying potent on
The blank sheet waiting to be eked out
By the simple prod of external stimuli, aided by
The eye, the accomplice, the intermediary,
The medium, the human all too human midwife
In the process of giving birth to form.
This entry was posted in Poetry.

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