Alyssa LaBelle
age 17
Peoria, AZ

1st Place Poety

Self-Expression in a Tube

Students sit all around
Their quiet murmur fills the open room
Like a hive of sleepy bees
My headphones play music in the back of my mind
But only to tune them out
As useful as earplugs on a jolting plane flight
I need silence to work.
Swirl the pigments together
Spirals of blue, purple, black
This tornado of hues all to find the perfect shade
The ever-present wood, paper, acrylics craft store smell
So soothing
Like rich, creamy hot chocolate in the depths of winter
Fades from my nose
The world fades
Until it's just my mind, my hands, the brush, the canvas in a vast expanse of nothingness.
My eyes stare at my hands, guiding and commanding them
Fingers clenched white-knuckled around the brush
Two more brushes crammed between other fingers
Until they're called upon to perform their duty.
I concentrate on the motion
So hard
Because I know if I relinquish my hold on this muse
He will soar away
Laughing
Never to return
One second with my thoughts elsewhere and it will all slip away
My hand will go insane.
Focusing so much that existence could blow up around me
And I would never know
Slapping swirling twirling mixing scraping smoothing caressing dragging dancing
Life onto the blank canvas
Like a woman in labor, giving birth to this creation
Bristles weaving on the surface in an intricate waltz
That only the initiated can comprehend
Brush palette canvas fingers canvas brush palette palette canvas
And back again
This fury of motion is all I know-
Until it stops.
My muse and myself
Like marathon runners
Exhausted
Invigorated
Step back to examine this.
Only a piece of fabric with colors smeared on in some semblance of art
But so much went into this
It's not paint on canvas
It's my mind, feelings, thoughts and soul
In their purest form of expression
Laid open for all to see.