Paintbrush

Paintbrush

“Noooooooooooo, put me down, put me down !!!”

Swinging wildly, with whip lashing strokes slicing through the air, I was hurriedly carried forth, without sympathy I might add, to what I could only describe as my impending execution. It appears that my long narrow stick-like appearance does me no favours. Clasped tightly with enthusiastic intentions, this monstrous apparatus grew larger with each glimpse gifted at the arc of pivotal swing. These elliptical metallic disks lie in wait for my thunderous arrival. My screams for mercy and understanding over this damning misjudgement of function …unheard or just ignored. Youth, it appears, ignorant of respect for proper usage of tools or instruments. No more am I treated with grace in movement. No more am I guided in playful harmony of colour. My once colourful punk –style hair now worn, dishevelled and casting.

“Thump!!….wham !!....crash!!

Such was the force of each impact , each bristle of hair….not just cast, but exploding into this atmosphere full of unintelligible din. With speed and uncanny accuracy, each blow delivering a repetitive experience of sound and pain, reverberating throughout my current existence. Is this music ? Once again I yearn to be caressed, to be held with care and sensitivity……. to be allowed to make gentle meaningful and colourful strokes. My freedom is my creativity. Now though, the strain is unbearable as my integrity rests in these unfamiliar hands.

“Crack!!!!!”

“Noooooooooooooooo!!!!”

Erratically spinning and tossing…..a duet ! No more beating or thunderous sound ringing all around. Only silence gives way to this rattling as we both roll gently to our end. Split in two now no more to grace my canvas. I’m just a large splinter now with heart and soul parted….left to rot in this little box, cuddled by those for whom a similar fate awaits.
Paul Gallagher Dec. 09