Abstract: My Audience Of One

Abstraction
Written By Nik Curfman

(There’s a sad time,

Between being an innocent boy and a guilty man,

When a young soul is crushed from who it is,

Into the mold of what it should be.

When scribbles on paper are no longer a source of joy,

When the lines are critiqued,

And the shading is judged.

The room of joy, the art room, becomes a lab.

Imagination replaced by standard production.

Each product held against the rest.

Never of its own.)

The judges are never louder than when I’m alone.

Years churn,

Attempts are made.

New tubes of paint lay unused,

And rasps turn to rust.

A thousand inspirations forever unseen, forever vanished into eternity.

I feel too unworthy to try, and condemned in my waste of what could be.

Does a cave of abandonment exist,

Free of the court and galley,

The lab and the showroom floor?

Where it’s just me?

Yes.

It’s called the Throne Room.

It’s bright and lined with white columns.

At the far end is where He is.

And big ass refrigerator.

That big ass refrigerator next to the seat where He sits,

It’s covered with magnets.

And He’s waiting while I work.

He’s waiting to smile and pat me on the head.

He’s waiting to say “well done son, I know where this is going.”

Then He takes my scribbles and sticks,

Using one of the many magnets on the big ass fridge next to where He sits,

And places my childish creation where everyone will see.

He’s my audience of One.

The only one that matters to me.

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Nik Curfman

I am a writer and artist in the early stages of my trek. I spent 20 years trying to be who I thought I needed to be, and now I am running after who I am. Fearless Grit is my space to document and share the process. 

https://fearlessgrit.com
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