Abstraction is quite random.
It drips from my left-side faucet,
downwards to the bottom of my sink
leaving specks of momentary illusion,
colored in acrylic paint.
All it takes is a bare spark, to ignite a match,
once lit, the expression pours itself out.
On top a canvas, a memory sits still.
It’s introspective, personal, yet up for grabs for anything, anybody’s interpretation.
The movement, the magic, the moment dripping in paint.
Anyone could create, such a simple visual feast.
After-all, Abstraction is quite Random.