My name is Sabica (sa-bee-ka) and I have no idea how to write about myself in the way of an introduction. Don’t think too much about the irony in that, you’ll hurt yourself. Besides, what’s the fun in being told?

Life of an Artist

I think,
and I come to a conclusion:
you’re too sad lately,
I note.
eyebrows knit,
I silently dab some of the blue away.
you don’t care.
you have no passion.
I throw some red on there,
but it comes out weak.
I put on another layer.
It doesn’t look right…
you hurt people,
too often.
I gather some white,
swirl it in a big figure eight,
and hope for redemption.
I stand to admire my work,
and knock the jar of water down.
the brown of the liquid washes over everything.
my eyes close,
my fists clench.
but then
I sigh,
and walk away to get another canvas.

watercolour self portrait

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