Sunday, April 7

Gray and White

I stare into infinite White, wondering how I will ever win the battle over nothingness.
White stares back, daring me to mar its purity.
Holding my breath, I direct my pencil towards White.
Delicate whispers of Gray on White.
I breathe easier and continue fighting Gray's battle.
Further and further, darker and darker Gray grows.
Checking each line, aiming for perfection.
Darker Gray creeps up on White.
I am grinning now as the battle is being won.
But then a traitorous line gives White a chance.
White floods to all corners, obliterating almost all Gray.
Aided by my own eraser, White is once again victorious.
Taunted by White, let down by Gray, I am tempted to throw down my pencil.
But then I see a brave little Gray, hiding away from White, and I know I must not abandon it.
The little Gray grows darker on White.
I move my pencil quickly and skillfully, carefully penciling in each detail.
White is retreating surely and briskly.
And then just as almost all is gone, I stop, and breathe, "Perfect."
Remaining are both Gray and White.
Wondering White knows not why it has been allowed to remain.
Victorious Gray groans at my mercy.
Looking at my masterpiece, I smile, for I know this:
Gray is nothing without contrasting White. 


  1. This is cool; I never thought of sketching as a battle like this before.

  2. I will never write the same way again....