The Master Artist
By Louanne Robinson
Winter
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
Spring
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
Summer
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
Fall
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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