My inspiration. It was this for which I searched, and yet none came.
My mind was blank.
Then, I had inspiration offered to me.
“I’ll be your inspiration.” Very well. You shall be the spark to ignite my artistic flair… Dirty, isn’t it? A joke, I swear.
Where to begin?
The pale artificial light of computerised 2 dimensional display settles on your face like a thin blanket on a cold night.
The brown of your hair, pixelated beyond purest clarity, reflects the colour of the aged oak, long fearing the woodsman’s axe, yet standing proud and tall nonetheless.
Yellow tints the shadows on your wall, recalling a summers day, long ago, when dreams were born and freedom redefined.
Your eyes dart back and forth, reading some intelligent text from a learned being.
Would that my work could capture such intelligent eyes.
All the inspiration in the world is laid at my disposal, and yet…
I have nothing more to say.