When thinking of artistry, there is always a large piece of me that looks at myself as more than just an artist, but that being the basis. There was a production during my senior year of high school that was a celebration of multicultural people.
Here, I was a part of a subproject in the production that was comprised of unconnected scenes that displayed the struggles of being a minority in America. In my piece, I wrote a poem about being a poet of the canvas, that shows that there's a sensitivity to people and artistic creativity in everyone.
A Poet of the Canvas
When you ask who I am,
I’ll respond with
“I’m an artist”
A poet of the canvas
Truth in uncertainty
Serenity within turmoil
Difference in the uniform
There’s fluidity my hands desire
When I attempt write poetry
There’s a part of me that knows what I want to say
And a part of me that can’t translate it to paper
My canvas remains blank
My mind ran until it is empty
Searching for a new inspiration
A force to drive new thoughts
On the same project
No two thoughts got the same results
I felt my heart racing, and slowing
Ideas turned into failures
Failures that are scrapped
And new ideas for new projects and
New works
Nothing to ever be completed
Like most stories
There’s a breakthrough everyone experiences
Mine,
I forced myself to focus
Not allowed to begin new projects without progressing in current ones
I was put to pursue what my heart desires,
To grow as an artist
And an individual
I would write poetry
About my mind,
How I think, act
And view the world
“There’s only one euphoria
And that’s this Earth
Us, artists, all human beings have to meld this world
To support us
No more separation of desires
We are changemakers”
That’s what I believe in, what I tell myself everyday
Two years have past
And I still pick up my gray folder
Bent and ripped
To read E.E Cummings and John Hollander
Self-written inspiration pieces
Where every letter is deliberately placed
Strategically to form a cigarette
A nail
Or to exclaim “The boy cried wolf!”
I write in rhythm
And music in my voice
There's music in learning
There’s music in success
Music in nervousness
Music that builds into a home, for me and everyone else
I’ve learned to look at writing
And to look at words
As a painting
Poetry on a canvas
Words as paintbrushes
To fill the canvas blue
Layer it red
And the corners green
I am a poet of the canvas.
