I always lived a life rich
in culture,
A lover of art, mostly
paintings and sculpture.
To museums I'd jaunt in any
spare hour,
Mesmerized by the tableaus
in every corner I'd scour.
Pollock, Dix, Manet,
Rothko, Bacon and Twombly,
Curator may I take them
home with me?
To commemorate my marriage
my art collection commenced
My husband participating
noting every cent spent.
Costly to acquire but
priceless in value
From no destruction or loss
was there any rescue.
Excited by the news of my
pregnancy,
I'd share these treasures
with my child growing in me.
A promise made upon my
little angel's arrival,
Her creative spirit I swore
never to stifle.
Each day she would soak in
the panopoly of images.
The abstract shapes,
vibrant colours and figurative visages.
When her first paint set
came from Granny,
What would she draw we
could not wait to see.
Left alone in quiet
contemplation,
We gave her freedom to find
inspiration.
A landscape? A still life?
Or something surreal?
No matter the subject we'd
love it with zeal~
Would my petite artiste be
the next Picasso?
Anything her mind conjured
I woud love it so!
Returning to unveil her inaugural
creation,
We discovered something
beyond expectation.
Rather than render a new
design,
Princess decided to improve
one of mine!
An abstract colourless
geometrical print no longer,
Now transformed into a
vibrant red and yellow pointilist watercolour!
Elation, rage, bargaining,
denial, and depression,
I landed on my therapist's
couch as a result of her newfound expression.
Life before-child was being
mourned - woe to me!
Head doctor said “Accept
your new reality.”
Home I returned to put the
paints out of baby's reach,
Until the value of each
piece of art to my daughter I'd teach.
Trying to find peace in the
death of my once invaluable painting,
I tried to uncover her
hidden talent without collapsing and fainting.
Moral of the story - keep
your valuable goods stored away,
Or you'll be selling your
new post-modern versions like me on Ebay!
(C) 2017. Naomi Elana Zener. All Rights Reserved.
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