The Magician
On
a blank canvas, flat and stark-white,
The
artist works his magic:
Beneath
his palette knife, a forest grows.
Dark
shadows draw us in.
Highlights
summon the once-hidden sun.
He
waves his paint-brush wand,
And
a woodland path meanders.
A
far horizon comes into view.
Behind
an atmospheric veil
Mountains
rise; earth recedes.
Pure
sorcery creates a landscape, deep.
In
the foreground, he casts a spell:
Alizarin
red with a touch of ochre
Cerulean
blue with a hint of green
Shades,
tints, pigments, hues.
Flowers
bloom, petal by petal.
A
field, almost fragrant, spreads before us,
Cream
clouds billow against a crimson sky.
The
illusion is complete:
Something
. . . conjured from nothing
--Barbara Rizza Mellin
