I Have Picasso Hanging in my Bathroom

I introduced the idea of writing such a poem in this blog the other day. Not being ready to actually put any of the poem on paper, I decided to put bits and pieces of ideas and thoughts in what I think of as a sort of stewpot of creativity. And there they sit roiling around until they begin to form some relationship to one another. When that happens the poem will begin to emerge and show itself to me. Maybe a line or two will come up in finished form - if I am lucky. I take what has come up and work with it a bit, attempting to keep trying and the ego out of it - never easy to dol And then back in the stew pot goes everything and the process continues until there is a sense that the work has completed itself.
When I said the title sentence to Martha, she laughed and said "That is the title of a poem!" And I laughed. Recalling this has given me the feeling that this is not to be a serious poem. Since I tend (it is my Leo nature) to be very grand scheme, over-the-top and serious, writing something light and funny will be new for me.
It fits in however, with how I am looking at my life right now. I have always loved change and challenge, the future rather than the past.I am thrilled by possibilities. Monday is my favorite day of the week because it presents a blank canvass and I am excited by what might appear on that canvass. All unknown - all a mystery.
As an elder I am consciously asking my brain to take on the new, move away from the safe and familiar, to dare, stretch and grow.
The stew pot is bubbling - something is coming up. I will share it with you.

First draft: I Have Picasso Hanging in my Bathroom

I took an art course when I was in college.
We learned about artists, their methods, schools
and techniques.
We also drew and painted.

I remember being embarrassed when
my effort with oils was shown to
the whole class
to show them "how not to do it".
But I did get an A+ on
a silhouette.
So there, you snickerers,

I discovered then that I liked my
art to tell me a story or bring up
some feelings.
I haven't changed.

Today I find modern art to be
obscure.
Sort of into itself.
Like the artist is teasing us
by giving us a riddle with no key.

It makes me cross - like he or she
is smugly putting something over
on me
so they can feel superior
and make me look dumb.

But I have the last laugh.
I have Picasso hanging in my bathroom.
A lowly place rightly suited
in my mind
for modern art.

And then again perhaps the joke's
on me.
I have Kandinsky hanging over
my fireplace.
But maybe that's
another poem.