Seven Men sat in a boat. Trying so hard to stay afloat. Some would steer, some would ride. Some would argue with the tide. Destiny’s hand will guide them though, and their arrival to land could be so slow.
Hans Peter sat on his hands, eyes alert he sees no sand.
Concern and caution goes unsaid, while Ernie Steel just looks ahead.
Wilbur Plunked, he watches the moon, knowing the tune, will be gone too soon.
Steven Snit, was in a fix, squirmed and fidget to call it quits. But his words are hollow and his sorrow was a fit.
Wilbur Moss hangs on for dear. The flotation loss is bought to fear. So he looks and looks as he hangs to hear. A lear so dear, of land so near.
Wallace Buell need some fuel. He’s sick and lost and lives so cruel.
Big Lim Mason sat still and true. Not a waiver not a clue. He’s sitten so tall.
Seven men sat in a boat.
Praying so hard it’d stay afloat.
Some would steer, some would ride.
Some would argue with the tide.
Destiny’s had will guide them through, And their arrival to land could be so slow.
Hans Peter sat on his hands, Squints eyes he sees no sand.
Concern and caution goes unsaid.
While Ernie Steel just looks ahead.
Wilbur Plunked, he watches the moon, Knowing the tune, it’ll be gone too soon.
Steven Snit was in a fix, Squirmed and fidget to call it quits.
But his words were hollow, And his sorrow was a fit.
Wilbur Moss, hangs on for dear, The floatation loss, is ought to fear.
So he looks and looks as he hangs to hear, A leer so dear, of land so near.
Wallace Buell, needs some fuel, He’s sick and lost and life’s so cruel.
Big Jim Mason sat still and true, Not a waver, not a clue, He’s holding it tough he sitting tall.
Isn’t it amazing how much art is in our world today. Where ever you look, there are art clubs, schools, workshops, and so much for us to learn. The supplies at our disposal, the method of displaying our work, the abundance of information to learn. Surly, in the history of art and man, the opportunities to become artist, to communicate through our art has never been seen the likes before. The many contradictions, between what is art what isn’t art abounds. I have recently been blessed to have an opportunity to study under an artist who had his training in Eastern Europe. I was blown away to discover that in that world, many hours and years of training are required before an individual can call himself an artist. Whereas in the US, anyone at anytime can declare himself and artist. There is the crux, if we has individuals are born to create in any form, then why struggle to learn. It seems by mere observation, that if as an individual I can declare myself an artist, then do I need to struggle, to learn, to reach and try to perfect my skill to convey my thoughts through my art. I think so. I like that we should always strive to learn to become better with our tools, mediums, our understanding of the visual to tell our story.