Strike a Prose

Ishka Lha


This laboring woman takes a break. I look at the progress pics–the progress PICKS– back and forth, back and forth, and back again. Searching for a clue, a hidden feature that I didn’t see before… What a relief to see how much this painting has grown! These pictures, capsules in time of the gestation period that is hard to imagine or remember as it nears its end.

I ask my friend for the story, for a symbol, a place to rest and get a new view.

“I’m not an artist,” she says, “not like you!” The astonishment shining in her eyes that I would beseech her grace in finding my way with my paint!

But this is how I continue on, in the heart, the ART of everyone’s song. If there is truth that I can find in the “master of canvas,” and they can show me the way, tell me where to find her. But for now, I ask all the world at my side, “What is the next step?”

Sometimes, all I have are questions. The vision stream takes a long pause, eddying round a bit. And while I toil over the next move, I take a breath. Sometimes, when I walk into the room, and the painting and I raise our gaze, my heart starts to race. I get nervous. I wonder intensely what do I say? It’s clear we have so much more to do together, but sometimes I am rendered speechless by the immensity of our partnership… and mostly simultaneously, I am also deeply comforted by the knowledge I have as creator — and so, I must take the stage. Act Three, scene 1. Curtains raised:

Leave a Reply