Dress Rehersal...

The "GIG" every nerve inside screaming with pleasure..it is that raw primal no hold back let her rip..The sweat lies still wet, and slight musty smell lingers, towel in hand whispers "stop". In this moment right now, the canvases are waiting for the hanging, like a noose around my neck..Is it right? Two shadows battling for the prize..one who reeks of "the show must go on", the other heckles why? You are no-body..The two meld into the background, damn abyss..24 hrs from a high or low but nothing in between. All Or Nothing!!!

Perfection and Seduction dressed(perfect outfit lies tight to the body every curve draws the eye) to muse or amuse..The art giggles, we are not the show, The ARt-Tist plays the role. All this in DRESS REHEARSAL ,  Imagine the show!!!!

Twelve hours..illusions take over, will I rise?

PREPARING FOR THE SHOW....

Damn time has a funny sense of humor, the old adage, grab a hot pot on the stove and a second can seem like an hour, grab a hot woman, an hour seems like only seconds. It's all relative. Three canvases all half measured and half done looming, staring at me one by one, calling out :NOW NOW NOW a tear hits the thigh..chaos theory carries the teardrop to it's final call. Is this what this is my final call..I live for one show at a time, I die after each show has closed. And, through the voices in my head the whisper came:  How & WhY?

Running through my head the beginning and ending of my show, my life, my dreams, I am ARt-Tist can this be the final curtain. Grabbed the cigarette on the stand, it had long gone out, burned to the end of it's purpose. Images haunt me, voices heckle me. "The show must go on" I declare.

Fell to the floor grabbed the brush, and the whisper came no more..but the shadows danced while I prepared for the show...3 days and counting. Will time be kind? I'm ARt-Tist..I live for a show, I die when a show closes.

My Square for a Muse.

As I stare out the dome shaped window overlooking the square. It is bleak and desolate, grey and as I stand in the studio window, the  silhouette of my body, my open robe reveals; no stage, no audience, no costume ready to darn, no muse to play by my side...:The Show Must Go ON! but for who is my hidden reply. You are Art-Tist !  Yet no applause yes the torch burns down and ashes lay abound. No curtain will rise tonight as I stare out the dome shaped window overlooking the square. It is bleak, and desolate..Am I speaking of me or the Carney Show of Art-Tist!!