The artist of life.

The artist spots and blots the colours.

She shifts and dips the brushes.

She sloshes and mushes the oils.

Sings and hums to the music.

The notes and lines dancing on the canvas.

The soul of life actualised.

The canvas no longer cloth.

The paint no longer liquids.

The water no longer cleanses.

Instead,

The canvas is the bed.

The paints are the starcrossed lovers.

The water is the amiable intruder.

The canvas warmly welcomes the sensual paints, oozing and melting into each other. One breathes into the other, whilst holding hand to another; the adultering adults. The water is the betrayed spouse, the deceived, and the deceiver. An orgy of oils and acrylics, exploding within themselves, showing what they truly are, exposing their true colours.

What beauty doth the artist gives? The artist gives us what we want to see, what we want to hear, to listen, to taste and to touch. The artist presents us with a tailor made experience which no sane mind or body can deny. The artist gives us beauty in perfect imperfections, once she sets her ten fingers to work. The artist is in herself the artist of life.