catches on canvas as we lean towards light,
a beam to break the boredom like a breath
above the water after diving up from darkness,
ripples run across the current,
ink spreads out like veins upon this page;
art isn’t easy, breathing isn’t any better-
both come up from down below,
rise through risk into life, into looking lively.
The texture of the wave is as temperamental
as the tone that sets itself out upon the page.
I dab the brush, horse hair taps connections
and colour comes at a gallop. It is clear-
control is not concerned with the creator.
This body needs air, runs broken, breathless-
breath and then less and less and less
and sometimes, sometimes I need to turn back
and teach the lungs how to draw. In.
Ink dries and petals stand, enchanting time
with their dismission of the word wilt.
Colour catches on canvas, clear and captured
and I lean in with the hope of drawing fresh
breath before the dive recalls me to paint
All words and paintings by Damien B. Donnelly