Journeyman Artist
I’ve had to cut my prices,
As my canvases decrease –
No more ultramarine for Mary,
No more golden fleece.
My landscapes are a full foot shorter,
My Christ Childs have eight toes,
And the sitters for my portraits
Must do so in simpler clothes.
Another painter has come to town,
And she’s splashing her vibrant hues around –
A lady artist ? Such novelty !
She’s practic’ly selling the things for free !
The trouble is, she’s also good –
But who could have trained her so ?
I’ve spent the last ten years with a master,
Just to learn what I know.
How is her flesh so creamy pink,
And how are her eyes so white ?
How does her satin fold in waves,
And her corsets clasp so tight ?
Another painter has set up shop,
And patronised by the very top.
Such soft, quick hands – so how will I cope ?,
As she grinds her pigments and crushes my hope.
What must I do to watch her work ?,
As she blushes her client’s cheek ?
And how can I stay professional,
As her brush-strokes leave me weak ?
But I must – she’s an artist like I’m an artist,
We’re brothers of the palette, are we…
But alas, she paints her angels and muses
Just as pretty as she !
Another painter is plying her trade,
And I know I should cheer the progress she’s made,
So I daren’t compliment the curves of her dress,
Or the delicate breasts of her shepherdess.
Rhyming Couplets 