I can’t see.
My vision imparts an impaired, inverted perception,
reflected from without. Blurred.
A windshield thrown upon which rainy droplets slip down,
and with angled wind are swished forty five degrees
against the relative direction of the motion.
It’s a mixed curse, this boon of beauty.
You see what reality echoes into the artist’s mind,
then you see nothing. Blind.
And this nothing is innovative,
for oil on nothing echoes the reality reflected, refracted,
and dispersed through creative meditation.
Black spot. Blind. Art.
Photo credit: ‘Rainy Windshield Painting — Echoes’ on canvas by Francis McCrory Art