The dying breath of a cold wind
Painted by the artist, on a long
Summer day.

It wasn’t right.
Where was the grey,
And a tinge of white, in the curls of air?

It didn’t sell,


Painted on a humid evening,
This time, the cold was
An evidence of the detailed snow.

No buyer,

Creation and Criticism;
An argument that didn’t matter;
A chilling sense of inadequacy;
An inspiration?

Strokes of two horse-hair brushes,
A riot of shades,
A success.

A cheque
Deposited the next day.

Painting? Sold.
The night? – got colder.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s