Pain is the artist’s cheap trick. No doubt the price paid for that muse was high, but the reward can be the same. The ugly side of life’s universal truths. So uniquely normal that its mere mention can capture an audience. They’ll fix each one of your errors and omissions, filling in the gaps as they make the art their own. Of course, there is that other truth.
The knowing smile of a friend, a quiet moment well-shared, a long meal, and even longer look. It was joy that moved the wheel. It was love that built the first home, and it is hope that makes us believe. But it never seems to linger.
The pain though, that clings to your clothes like cigarettes and spilled drinks. It soaks in deep and begs to be seen while demanding to be cleaned. So we draw the shadows and pray that someday we’ll catch hope in one of these empty bottles.
The Works of Peter C. Knochel 