The tool is his hand a chance to extradite the creativity of his mind the apprentice the master proportion of the original copy of HIS < design free handedly with every stroke of the brush the colors blend and reflect with the light the feeling of completion work left undone skills pass down from father to son the artiest work is never done..
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Posted: Nov 2013
About this poem:
maybe i should go back to the drawing board hahaha
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