Merry Christmas! (Patreon)

I will be spending time with my family tomorrow and I hope you are all doing the same. I wish for you lots of love and joy on this special day. I wrote a poem for you guys! Ok, so I wrote a parody of an already-written poem. Same thing 😉 I added a PDF at the bottom incase you want to download the poem and print it.

'Twas the Night Before Deadline An Artist’s Tale

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the space, Not a paintbrush was idle, not even a trace. The canvases leaned by the easel with care, In hopes inspiration soon would be there.

The palettes were splattered with colors galore, While tubes of paint rolled on the studio floor. And I in my apron, with ink-streaked hands, Had just settled down to revise my grand plans.

When out by the window there rose such a clatter, I tripped on my sketchbook to see what’s the matter. Away to the curtain I flew like a dart, Smudging my sleeve with a fresh work of art.

The moon on the mess of my paint-splattered plight, Gave a glow to my chaos, both tragic and bright. When what to my squinting, tired eyes did appear, But a miniature sleigh with eight brushes as gear.

With a jolly old driver so lively and spry, I knew in a moment—it was St. Van Gogh Guy! More rapid than brushstrokes, his art elves they came, And he whistled and shouted and called them by name:

"Now Sketcher! Now Scribbler! Now Mixer and Shader! On Blender! On Layer! On Crafter and Fader! To the top of the canvas! To the edge of the frame! Now splash away! Dash away! Add your own flame!"

As dry leaves that scatter and dance in the wind, My pencils and markers joined in with a spin. Up toward the ceiling my supplies they all flew, With the sleigh full of wonders—and St. Vincent too.

And then in a twinkling, I heard on the ground, The swish of his brushstrokes—a magical sound. As I turned in a daze, from my head to my toe, He’d started to paint scenes I barely could know!

He painted my daydreams, my struggles, my fears, With colors so vibrant, they brought me to tears. Each stroke was perfection, a masterful feat, And yet he left room for my style to compete.

He spoke not a word, but kept on with his art, And left in my workspace a much-needed spark. He gave me a nod, and with a wink of his eye, He leapt to his brushes and soared through the sky.

But I heard him exclaim as he flew out of sight, "Happy painting to all, and to all a creative night!"