In the quiet whispers of a canvas bare,
Colors dance in a silent, graceful ballet,
Each stroke a story, a dream laid bare,
In hues of dawn, dusk, and the midday.

The artist’s heart, a compass without lies,
Guided by the stars of inspiration’s light,
A tapestry woven from the endless skies,
Capturing moments, eternity in sight.

Sculptures rise from marble’s cold embrace,
Breathing life into stone, a timeless grace,
Chiseling the echoes of the human race,
In shadows and forms, a sacred space.

In galleries where silent wonders reside,
Each piece a portal, a universe wide,
Art speaks in whispers to those who confide,
In its beauty, where the soul’s secrets hide.