The Master Artist

By Louanne Robinson




What patience it took to apply so many dot-stroked,

snowflake laced crystals...

And to then, layer upon layer the white frosting over the ground

'Till all is cloud like in pale silence.

What skill to emboss this intricate frost tracery on leaf and lake

Then etch on window pane.

And how fragile your hand blown glass branches

Backlit by moon beams and musically

playing like tiny tinkling windchimes




How vibrantly you've painted your ceiling sky blue

And carpeted the meadow, deep pile green

Patterned with yellow white and blue petals betwixt the blades

Each tree seems clothed in Easter coats

Pastel and candy cotton pink

Bird's nest chapeaus nestled in their branches

And then all is overlayed and washed by silver threads of rain

So real, that this observing artist can smell the earth beneath her feet




A strange canvas;

Half, sand-flecked texture and seafoam billows

Two seagulls hovering before a scorching orange disk...

Half, lush green foliage, leaf shadow, dew and forrest moss

Yet both halves depicting a languorously warm and lazy feeling




Such fire and a passion for life

These oranges, reds, browns, and golds

Flung from your palette indiscriminatly

Of those who like a more conservative touch

You have actually been able to take the cold crisp air

And warm it with color

I've never seen anything equal to your work,

anywhere, by any man!

You must have been creating a very long time


Copyright 1980

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