When I Paint

Painting with knife

With a single stroke of the knife,
swish —
where the paint is scraped away,
I feel a sense of release.

Colours filled with resolve
layer upon layer,
and in the thick, heavy paint,
a quiet satisfaction rises.

Whoosh, whoosh —
bold and playful lines pass by,
no longer fragments,
but revealing themselves as a whole.

The decisive, almost solemn
downward press of my hand,
vertical and firm,
keeps me working without pause.

Mixed paints give birth to new colours,
and when the unfamiliar style
begins to feel like a stranger,
novelty and stimulation
turn into an irresistible painting.

I step back,
take a breath,
and look.
This —
is a painting made with a knife.

*these are my own paintings*