Exceptional Madness of an artist The Artist Of The Isles by Realist101

Seething surf, so loud it almost deafens, beats the boulders, and I wonder who will win the eternal battle. I listen closely as I draw. The voices of the sea are sometimes soft, sometimes harsh. The rocks are stoic though, it will take the sea eons to change them~~to wear them away. My pencil almost works without me. I draw, erase, draw. The leaded wood leads my hand; like a dog on a leash held by a mistress who isn't firm. I stop my sketch. The voices in my head are louder now. They speak, luring me close to the water's edge. I look through squinted eyes at a dark equine form bobbing in the water. Its eyes bulge and beseech. The voice is loud now. Almost screaming at me. I must finish the drawing before dark and I return to the paper, now damp with the ocean spray, damp with my tears. The Kelpie I have drawn is me, and I it. And when I return to the sea, my mate and I will be one again. One with each other. Beneath the dark and quiet deep. Recognized Author Notes Thanks for reading and to Picasa too, for the loan of this strange art! ")

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