An artist paints a self-portrait expressing her heart in distress. (free verse poem)
Soon to be past midnight; wispy-clouds and a shadowed moon
slightly peering through the studio's open window
would bear witness to the sadness within.
Sky's illusive moods disturbed the artist's sleeping agenda.
Isadora, awakened by gloom and the evening's unsettling moon-muses,
reached for an unread romance-novel left days ago collecting dust
on the alcove's dismal window seat. Intermittent moonlight offered no
likelihood or purpose to read on this restless night.
Wisely avoiding a probable tragic tale of 'love's ending'.
Moments later, a steam-kettle whistled, indicating a caffeine need;
tea offered a way to endure the promises of long lonely hours ahead.
Perhaps painting, as a proposal of therapy, would satisfy the artist's angst;
an allegory that must be stated to illustrate the impotent self-image
posing a threat to the soul denied, in seemingly never-ending darkness.
A lone easel, standing silhouetted near the alcove's window,
gave ghostly reminders of her lover's absence. It seem to whisper
an eerie invitation to approach. The artist refused to reconcile
to its chilly beckoning. Instead, a personal persuasion prevailed.
A painting process ensued, revealing the spirit's essence of Isadora.
Prayerfully on her knees, upon the wood-planked floor, she went about
the usual task of stretching canvas. An abstract self-portrait of various
media was created from there; insufferable memories of romantic dreams
gone awry. By dim light, Isadora's own story of love lost and loneliness
began. Dark lines, pale-blue washes mixed with her own tears; designs
imprinted by her grief-stricken soul. Shaky brush-stroked words added,
meant to stay and have a lamented say, ran as rivers down
the canvas page. Silent sobs suddenly begged for a release.
Charcoal and color-penciled scribbles mapped intimate poetic notes
along the painting's uneven margins with meandering arrows pointing
to the iconic bleeding heart drawn, center placed on the canvas.
A forgotten tea cup, carelessly set on the edge, left a partial ringed mark.
The stained broken-circle became Isadora's unintentional logo signature.
A distraction caused the artist to stand slowly from her kneeling position.
She became aware of an old vinyl record, from somewhere in the studio;
Debussy's "Clair de Lune", playing soothingly on the turntable.
A reminder of her hopeful spirit-song echoed memories of a better time.
Soon before the break of dawn, now cloudless and revealing a full moon
brightly shining through the studio's open window, new light would bear
witness to the canvas set aside; the abstract story, her self-portrait.
Swaying to the lovely melody, music became the artist's healing agenda.
40 line count