lost in detail

The drag of convincing myself to do that which I know must be done. Without drive or motivation I go through the motions, barely even keeping up with the pace set before me. My eyes open to greet the day and then sink shut with a heavy sigh when full consciousness reminds me of what lies ahead.

I arrive late, simply because there is no reason to be early. I desperately throw myself in, hoping to find something to grasp my interest long enough to maintain focus. Some days I get lucky.

It is not the passion for the picture that I lack. Rather the breakdown of the composition into its infinite components, revealing the crudity of the canvas’s threads and the very pigments that compose every shade of the paint. Thoroughly buried in minuscule pieces, the eyes become blurred until it is almost impossible to discern any object, not even a point.