The Artist Will See You Now
[Poetry]
The Artist Will See You Now You need to see the Artist, she implores. Her work heals, seals wounds. No appointment needed — once is all you need. Line up with the huddled masses, hushed whispers float around my head. I hear you never feel pain again / it’s subjective / this can’t be for real / but she fixes people The old woman ahead of me says, with a shrug, once is all you need. I don’t ask how she knows this for certain. Finally, a voice calls to me from behind the double doors. The Artist will see you now. I walk through the doors into a white room. The lights go out. A moment passes. A spotlight appears, centered on The Artist’s mottled canvas. Its splotches draw me closer. I feel it swallowing my grief and sadness. My madness. A soft voice fills the space. Euphoria. An unrelenting swell -- it pulsates through my veins. It wipes clean the dusty corners of my soul. I bathe in this feeling until the spotlight finally dies. The room begins to lighten, leisurely, to a soft periwinkle hue. A door on the opposite side of the room emerges out of nowhere. Inviting me to walk through. Before I do, the Artist smiles, clasps my hands in hers. My pain ceases. She disappears into the darkness behind me. Before I exit, a piece of paper drops into my hands. Recall this image 1-2 times every eight hours or as symptoms appear. Unlimited refills. No follow-up appointment necessary. And in fine print: This too shall pass.
Behind the Poem
This is another poem inspired by ’s #tinyautumnpoem challenge — this time, the prompt was “mottled”. I immediately thought about an artist friend of mine and her work, two particular pieces.
Krista is massively talented and when I look at her work, I genuinely feel healed. I can’t explain it. I just do! I commissioned a few pieces from her because of this. Go look at her art. Buy some for your own walls.
When I view art, and not just creations by friends of mine, a myriad of emotions surge. I could wander around our local art museum for hours, taking in the different works one at a time, soaking in the images and considering how they were crafted. What the artist was thinking when they carefully applied their colors to the canvas in front of them. If it was healing for them to create the piece that eventually rests on the walls of a home or a museum. If they knew their work would help someone, in some way, someday.
Writing is like that too, for me anyway. Healing. I often wonder if my work brings joy to my readers, if my pieces are relatable. I suppose that’s a nice thing about this place — I get to share my thoughts and pieces and in real time, you get to respond in real time. Conversation begins. With art in a gallery or within the walls of our homes, we take it in quietly and often alone, without being able to talk to the artist, ask questions, or share how their work touches our lives. This is probably why I tell my artist friends often how much I appreciate their work. Why I buy pieces from them when I can afford to do so. Why I upgrade to paid subscriptions here. Why I share their links, repost their pieces. I like to see my talented friends shine — and if I can share their work with others, maybe they will find some success, or spark conversations and become friends too.
Back to the poem I crafted for this post: I kept thinking how nice it would be if we could just walk into a room, view a piece of art, and suddenly, magically, be healed of our ailments. Have peace flood our souls, bring solace to our lives. It would be incredible. In another world, maybe. I like to think there’s a world out there like that, don’t you? If only. 🩷
