My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun. (Sonnet 130)
By RAHN ADAMS
When you look at a picture, / what do you feel first? / The colors? The lines? / A brain tickle? A thought burst?
What about the artist, / what they had in mind / when they whet their brush / with the tastiest art they could find?
Or is your take on a painting / all that really matters, / not the painter’s intent / nor the way their paint spatters?
Is art simply like beauty — / in the eye of the beholder? / Is it a silent meditation / or a transaction much bolder?
Me? I can’t answer that / because I’m married to my art. / I’ve learned to be quiet / and just trust that sweet heart.