By deevaa
Date: 24 January 2001
white canvas
Last night I prepared a canvas for painting.
I stood and looked at easel and the square of white canvas. I wanted to paint on it, to create something, to mark the pure white.
Poetry usually inspires me, so I pulled out my folder, I try to read but my eyes kept being drawn to that square of white.
The blank page was taunting me, maybe if I just put something, anything on it. So I squeeze some paint out onto the old plate that I use as a palette, a purple almost the colour of pansies.
Pansies, for remembrance. I remember.
The white canvas is still taunting me.
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