Goldfinch60

Artists.

There it sits in front of the artist;

It could be a blank canvas,

It could be a lump of stone,

But with me

It is a blank sheet of paper.

Where do we start?

That first brushstroke sets the scene,

The first tap of chisel on stone

Can create the work,

The first word I write

Leads me into a new world.

Each artist, sculptor or poet

Releases their hearts

Into their creations,

All are different

But they all come from the same place,

They all come from within,

Within the mind,

Within the heart,

Within the soul,

From within the artist.