Many simply attempt smears on blank canvas and to most that is there ideology. Just make it stick somehow otherwise make it beautiful.

Pastels, exuberant blue tones, powerful red notes, and exquisite shades of green.

Fierce as maroon, stout as navy, sultry as Hunter.

Standing I see a muse and masterpiece in one. Walking art, living poetry, vivid pictures, time stopping film.

Vibrant yellows, unique oranges, royal violets, flavors of mocha, chocolate, caramel, butterscotch, and French crème.

I see you in raw form yet the art you have been adorned with is abstract, pointillist awe at your curves. Minimalist puzzled by your extravagance.

Shadowy grays outline and show deep definition of bold blacks and bright whites.

Broad strokes, fine lines, and dripping watercolors as if you were to flow right off the canvas. Taken a gasp as to easily be mimicked but you are no pop art, Warhol could not use you. Far from a Mona Lisa but she doesn’t look better either.

I use each brush to turn potential into retina kinetic views, erecting flaccid minds to succumb to brilliance in various composition. We flow gently and distinguished over the grasp of creation. Somehow God like, I find that merely from the abyss of nothing we create masterpieces.

Hung up to be admired metallic gold and silvers add a touch of regal yet exquisite detail. Bronze the blend of beautiful shades of skin tone. Patterned silhouettes express that you can not be contained and merely a wild woman who fears not running with wolves.

Then slowly as each minor drip and major push has finished. The bigger picture comes into horizon.

When woman was created God was genius because you were surely intended to be…