When An Artist Dies
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Leather bag by Chris of Skyravenwolf
When an artist dies,
it hurts a little more. Beauty is stifled all too often
already in this world.
When an artist dies,
a whole world implodes. The world only their eyes
can see, shown to strangers,
who carry pieces of that place with them forever.
Ten years from now, the stranger may sit with their children,
and teach them about
pansies, magpies, faeries, the dew on a spring morning.
And their words, and their mind's eye,
are coloured by the work of that artist
seen on a gallery wall, on a website, in a convention hall
years ago.
When an artist dies,
work is always left undone. An artist never says
"I've finished, there's no more to make."
When an artist dies,
their loved ones may never know
how many people mourn them. Those who will
help them live on by carrying the memory
of that beauty.
When an artist dies,
they do not have to be famous to leave a legacy.
Just a quiet sharing "look what I see"
that spreads gently, on whispers and dreams.
"Hope. Hope still. Hope always."
-Grace Nuth
For Chris of Skyravenwolf
A year ago today I wrote this poem and shared it on my Facebook after an artist I greatly admired passed away. I thought it would be appropriate to share here.
