Once upon a time there was a thought. She was small and wispy, just a ghost of a form. She was born in the kitchen among a scribble of words.
She grew into a hope.
Scrawny with scarred knees, running into consciousness whenever she could. A reminder of what could be.
She became a wish. Becoming taller and more secure as she developed through sketches and frequent visits.
That made her a belief. A solid shape of an idea, surrounded by color sketches on how she could brighten the world around her.
Finally, she got her chance and she stretched out her arms, developing into lines and shapes on very fragile and precious paper.
Her health was worried over, and she found herself at times erased or ignored, truly empty in places, but ultimately filled back in with beautiful marks. Encouraged.
She became complex. Moody. Sassy.
But she flourished. She filled out her frame and got an outfit of the shiniest metal and glass. A wall flower of the prettiest sort.
She even found herself with a name at a party with glamorous people, receiving smiles and serious contemplation.
But she had no home.
She became abused, slightly dinged, pushed around and eventually stripped of her frame. Moved aside for new thoughts, soon she was left in a closet.
Still vibrant, but getting grey with dust. Wrinkles set in.
She still had a story to tell. She still needed an audience.…..
She became a memory. Lost in the dark. Hoping to one day be recognized for who she was. Visited again.
Waiting.
Give a painting a home.