I stared at a blank canvas today,
and I was scared
Scared that the canvas was a mirror
and that I was blank
Scared that the canvas had won
even before one drop of paint was laid
Scared that all creativity was lost
in looking at this vast white nothingness
Then it happened; the paint spilled in irregular shapes and forms
I thought "What a mess!"
Then it hit me, it's a mess, now make something of it
The more I painted the less I feared
That what would emerge from the blankness
would be seen as art, beauty or more
I painted that canvas
until every corner was taken with paint.
No longer it's orginal white
The canvas now had my sweat and labor
woven into it's tight weave.
What will it become--who knows?
It's not a blank canvas anymore.
By Jim Drake