The common ground
The common ground is not a promised land
hidden somewhere, in the midst of untamed dreams
far away from all imperfections: flawless, unspoiled
far from wretched humans and their exhausting crazes
That is what you're picturing
that is what you're blindly, and selfishly, and stubbornly picturing
and painting with a thick, coarse brush, on top of my face
which could be, or couldn't be there, wouldn't make any difference
you wouldn't even notice
if I was, or wasn't still there
as you're so busy painting, and painting, with your eyeless fervency
If only you knew
that painting is not a matter of the hand, or the brush, or the paint:
but a matter
strictly a matter
of the eye.
If you don't train to observe, absorbe and soak with the vision of
what is in front of you
your stupid painting will always be a boring reflection of your canned thoughts
and never the distilled essence
of the life you're witnessing.
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