The Painter
As
a rule, he only painted people of
Importance:
Kings,
queens, courtiers.
His
skill with a brush was
Magnificent,
Known
throughout the land.
He
walked through the woods,
Quietly,
Dreaming
of his next portrait.
A
princess, beautiful as the dawn,
Delicate,
like
a rose only beginning to bloom.
He
heard something to the left.
He
stopped,
Stood
still,
Hardly
dared
Breathe.
Then
he turned.
There
before him was a
Girl,
Sturdy
as a farmer’s daughter,
Fast
asleep,
Nestled
In
the moss-covered fork of a tree.
The
painter couldn’t help but
Stare.
His
eyes, used to lace and brocades,
Marveled
at the girl’s rough
Homespun,
Wondered
who she was.
Something
about her made her
Beautiful.
Her
feet were bare, her skirt showed
Her
ankles, Her skin was
Bronzed
By
the burning sun.
And
yet, the painter saw only
Beauty
In
the head laid back, her hands
Clutching
the trunk, the way her
Lips
Parted
ever so slightly as she breathed.
He
did not wake her. He left her,
Peaceful,
But
took back with him an image,
A
perfect picture of a girl
Asleep
In
the woods, untroubled.
His
next painting left the court
Astounded.
Who
was this girl, this
Peasant
girl, dressed so
Plainly,
Her
hair let loose over her shoulders?
The
painter never did
Explain,
But
from that day he refused
To
paint anyone of any
Importance:
No
kings, queens, courtiers.
He
only painted those
Who
would not be seen
Without
the skill of his brush.
Breton, Jules. Asleep in the Woods. 1877. Private Collection. N.p.:
n.p., n.d. N. pag. The Athenaeum. Web. 30 Aug. 2015.
I liked the direction you took in this poem. Especially the message you are conveying. The phasing was very well done, in that it really forces the reader to internalize every line. The story that you spun around this painting is also very impressive. I really liked the fact that not only did you focus on the girl in the painting, but also the painter himself. I found this to be quite a refreshing change.
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