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Little Bird
The small birds gather.
They dwell deep in the forest of art, dedicating themselves to the life of creation.
They carve the copper plate with a scratching sound.
They carve the wood with a crisp, crisp sound.
They run crayons across the zinc plate.
They cut sheets with a cutter knife and glue them to make prints.
They apply ink and paint, wipe, and transfer.
They carve their own life into the material.
They carve their own existence.
They let the movements of their hearts flow onto the plate.
They tear apart and reassemble the hearts of you and me.
Trying to create a new life, trying to wipe away the grime of the heart,
They transfer the unknown future onto a fresh new sheet of paper.
They struggle to dye it with their own color.
The birds gather.
The birds continue to sing.
The birds take flight.
The birds fly toward tomorrow.
Like Fernando Botero’s massive bronze Little Bird sitting in the forest of art,
They wish to settle into the world of art.
They wish to build a firm, true sense of self.
(From the DM for the 18th Little Bird Exhibition, 2014)