To Paint Poem by Suzanne Hayasaki

I want to paint.
I crave the tactile sensation
Of brush sliding over paper
Fearless of mistakes
Wordlessly bent on creation.

I long to compose.
To lay language aside.
To open my mind to a different set of symbols.
To tell a story with light.

Your works speak to me.
Like a symphony
Or a poem,
They flow.
There is meter in your strokes.

I, too, want to find my rhythm.
To mix my own colors
To lay them side by side
To set off explosions of delight
In my viewers' eyes.

But I must ask myself why.
What it is I hope to find.
Or what I need to shed
In my pursuit of beauty.

And so it is you I study.
My gaze may rest on your works,
But my mind wanders,
Intent on puzzling out
What your choices mean,
What part of your souls you need to have seen,
What catharsis you receive the act of creation.

I believe that art is not a commodity.
It is a balm.
A totem.
An act of faith in the self and the world.

Paintings may be owned
But they remain a part of their creator
Freely shared with all with eyes to see
Healing in their universal capacity
To remind us of the magic within our humanity.