Putting thought into paper, placing dreams on a canvass. Pencil stroke after pencil stroke …. Hoping and yearning, feeling utter despair, searching for something…  something difficult to truly describe, something hard to say, yet something known when felt.

After another pencil line is drawn, another curve, another shade, the dream becomes a little more of reality. The whiff of smoke becomes manifest, slowly I begin to create an image, an image of what is a dream, an image of what is hope.

The portrait… never finished, never fully done, always changing with no definite end… there is no real finish… An image uniquely my own, an image only truly and fully appreciated by one holding the pencil, looking on at his canvass…

An Image kept in my mind, and a portrait protected in my heart. I know not when or if it will ever be finished …

And yet…

I still hold on to the pencil, I’m still looking at the little canvas, and still hoping to see the masterpiece the canvass will eventually hold…