Messin' up art

Messin’ Up Art

She sat on the stoop,
a frown on her face.
Her picture was ruined.
She’d made a mistake

She liked violet flowers,
but used lime green instead.
And what color should the stems become, 
violet, sienna or yellowish-red?

Now, for the sky, she thought to herself,
and reached for Robin’s Egg blue,
but then, her eyes lit upon
the most incredible tangerine hue.

The yellow crayon broke in half
so what could she color the sun?
The orangy-red was much too dark,
so she grabbed the pinkish one.

So now, for grass, she opened the shades
to look for a brilliant clue,
and there, upon the sidewalk, she saw
a puddle of cerulean blue.

Her picture nearly finished,
she smiled and let out a sigh
But when she carefully wrote out “To Mommi”
she put an “i” instead of a “y”.

She’s too old to misspell “mommy,”
she was seven, for goodness sakes.
Crying, she threw her mom’s gift in the trash,
because of the stupid mistake. 

Later that night, at the birthday party,
her mother started opening gifts.
There, her girl sat, lower lip to the floor,
with nothing at all to give.

Then her mom held up her picture,
and called her by name.
“Look everyone, here’s the perfect gift.
from our artist bound for fame.”

“But look”, the girl said, “I messed it all up,
I’m a lousy speller, you see.
And have you ever laid eyes on cerulean grass
or tulips of limish green? “

“I see a brilliant sunset, on an April afternoon,
and here’s a reflection of sky in the puddle outside,
When your sunrays blend with your tangerine sky,
the blue stems turn violet and the tulips turn lime.

Look here at your “i”, it’s a “y” with one leg.
You can draw a leg here and make a tail.
Babe, there’s nothing in art that can’t be fixed.
When you create, you can never fail. 

Trust your eye, child, no color is wrong
‘cause God created them all.
And if you don’t believe me, take a look outside,
in winter, spring, summer and fall.”

A grandmother once told a child the same thing,
The wisdom’s now hers to impart.
“Don’t ever quit if you make a mistake, because
there’s no such thing as messin’ up art.”.

SWPoet

Dedicated to my mother’s great-grandmother, Clara Rorie Buffington Davis
and to my mother, for passing on her wisdom of art and life, that
there is nothing in art, or life for that matter, that you can’t fix or recreate,
no color is off limits, and no work of art is “messed up”  except the one that is abandoned
or thrown away for fear of failure.