ERODA


My mind has been awake for two hours
my eyes are just now opening.
It’s time to mediate.
Perched quietly,
Mind and stomach vacant;
I disappear in the deafening silence.
I attempt to discern what is real and what is not.
Is this restfulness which I see before me?
Come let me clutch the…
Something dances in the distance
It a peace I have not held in a very long time.
Feel so foreign after having
an empty stomach swimming with electric butterflies.
This dove that flies over me drizzles peace over my soul
This peace feels artistically ethereal
At that moment I am rudely pulled into reality.
Would it be art to an onlooker?
Why is it art?
My mind races faster my heart is beating
Hours have passed and I have been lost in reverie.
My mind has taken flight on the wings of
A
R
and
T
I attempt to retreat from a concrete definition of art
Maybe it is fluid.
So fluid it has engulfed me and I have thought of nothing else
Charged with emotion like the paint that I drips from a brush;
methodical like learning a musical instrument.
Historical but meticulously crafted like a sculptor and their figure
It is not rigid clay after it is removed from the kiln.
Art is a vulnerable
open
Flexible
Ever-changing
Held in the eyes of the beholder.
Dizzying the artist like a ballerina’s pirouette.
Drawing me in like the oeuvres of a blurry photograph.

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