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The clever words of The Lovely Brinn.

((All work on these pages copywrite to Brinn. Steal and die. Or at least face the wrath of lawyers.))

A picture's worth a thousand words.
Pretty pictures paint what's in my heart
Through strokes, lines, colors,
All images of the complexities of human emotions.
Images, iconic images of life itself
Flowing from heart to hand to brush to canvas.
Canvas: A rainbow of thoughts, feelings,
Everything that makes LIFE,
Me me or you you.
But I cannot hold a paintbrush.
I cannot spill colors to create.
I cannot sketch, paint, sculpt,
Love and Live through ink, canvas, clay.
I am not an artist,
But my craft is an art.

I am blessed with the curse of articulation.
Words that tell me secrets, confess my sins.
I cannot tell a lie.
My words are so painfully, terribly,
WONDERFULLY
Honest.
I prick and draw blood from innocent, curious fingers,
Fingers of hands of nothing more than children.
I am a sinner.
I am a saint.
I am an angel with horns, a devil with wings.
I tell it like it is,
Behind a veil of imagery and symbolism.
Words paint a picture.
A picture at once beautiful and terrible,
Glory and atrocity.
Fanged beauty, drawing in, snapping down,
Biting, crushing, killing,
With nothing more than words
I isolate,
I congregate,
I make,
I destroy,
I heal,
I hurt,
With sentences strung together with lucid lunacy.
Loony lucidity.
I paint a picture of LIFE
Of what makes me me and you you.
My soul is a canvas of thought, feeling, emotion.
Words flow from heart to hand to pen to paper.
I speak with colors in my language,
Lines in my face
And strokes in my letters.
I LOVE and LIVE
Through LIFE
Life on paper, life out loud.

I cannot hold a paintbrush,
Nor paint, draw, sculpt.
I do not create artistic images,
But I do create ART.
I am not an artist.
I am an ARTIST.

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