An Artist's Splendor
I am queen of the acrylics
by Chris Haifley
Master of plaster
Voyager of vintage.
I live to command pens
My destiny is to design inks
Instincts demand me to draw.
My hands speak a language all their own
My fingertips are permanently stained
Emotions flow freely through my soul
My ideas fill up the void spaces of the earth.
I spend most of my time in solitude, but I’m never lonely
I produce my best work while alone
I see the world without any filters
I am skillfully and flawlessly self-taught.
My soul is black and white
My heart beats color throughout my veins
I can faultlessly merge simplicity and chaos.
People call me an idealist
My face is expressionless—for I have seen worse
Non-inventive souls make me sick
No one carries the charming burden that I must.
No one believes that I have this wonderful creativity
My peers always doubt my work
They look in disgust upon my ink-stained hands while I show them off like a trophy
For they have never created work like me, they don’t have a clue.
They do not know that you must suffer for you art,
They do not know how many nights I’ve gone without sleep just to create
Or how I’ve drawn until my fingers bled
Or how many times that damned hot ink burned me
Or how my wrists have gotten chronically injured
Or how many times I’ve gotten electrocuted
They do not know the price of creativity
And the glorious hell I must go through just to create the work that they must doubt to cover their envy
No one has strength like me.
We are artists.