And
That Is the Face of Art
We
are the spectators; we watch in wonder, each image framed,
In
the spectrum of light, the multitude of colours skilfully tamed.
Our
breath is taken, held in awe, at the spectacular panoramas portrayed,
The
blend of colours in space, the brush strokes so masterfully overlaid.
Yet
we are left to wonder who paints the storms and hurricanes,
The
untamed wonderlands, wild horses breaking their chains.
Rage
cast in thunderclouds, as tears wash colour from the eye,
The
taste of emotion etched within the sun setting from the sky.
Day
by day, over and over again, layer upon layer intently laid,
Never
sleeping, as the Maestro follows every shifting ray.
Each
master stroke of the brush into vibrant colours dispersed,
At
night highlighting stars and planets throughout the universe.
Colour
following the wild waves, the tides, the winds of change,
Season
upon season, layer upon layer, each colour rearranged.
When
summer burns, and autumn's orange turns to crimson red,
Then
in winter's frost and fog, with snowdrifts, a blanketing bed.
Each
hurricane painting ephemeral art, attentively transposed,
The
debris in explicit detail, a masterclass so artfully composed.
Every
subject perfectly placed in landscape, as a seamless array,
The
Master of Art never stops painting, throughout night and day.
Phase
upon phase, creating each masterpiece, we watch in awe,
Unforgotten
moments, ever constant cues wherever we may go.
Each
scene evolving, silhouettes generated, long shadows laid,
Painting
each stroke of day, another masterclass in art conveyed.
Cleverly
diffusing, catching the sun as it bathes upon the beach,
And
rocky silhouettes, as it dances high upon the mountain peaks.
Painting
the most beautiful sunrise ever seen, between sky and sea,
As
the gull’s circle upon the rising ocean breeze, so wild and free.
Following
the sun across the sky, every stroke of colour to the west,
Blending
the colours of the spectrum into fauna and flora's best.
The
Master producing evocative tender hues and subtle tones,
Long
before and long after we are gone, through eternity He roams.
The
diversity of conception, rendered images passing before the eye,
The
sun in its radiant colours cast, evoking every element of life.
Illuminating
creation as luminescence of light concentrates through space,
Light
diffusing a thousand ways, with texture and tone in every place.
The
fog that floats so close to the ground, viewed from hills above,
In
harmony imagines paradise, created with all the Painter's love.
As
we walk through life, scene to scene, our minds utterly amazed,
Too
much to comprehend, the eternal exhibition seen, then erased.
Beware
the blush of beauty captured in the red velvet rose adored,
So
delicate, yet its unforgiving thorns an agonising lesson implored.
On
stone walls, or cliff faces, that is the face of art beyond compare,
The
complex shapes of leaves and trees, every pixel placed with flair.
Yet
still we stand as spectators before each gallery of the day,
Watching
living masterpieces born, then gently fade away.
No
canvas can contain them, no museum house them all,
For
every dawn unveils another work, each sunset hears its call.
The
Painter signs no corner, no mortal hand can trace His art,
Yet
every living creature bears the imprint of His heart.
Each
fleeting scene a masterpiece no human hand could ever chart—
Creation
is the canvas... And that is the Face of Art.
Written By: Alan.Clark@WW1POET (July 2026)
