Upon a gallery once upon a time

Once upon a time in the gallery

(I see a picture, if I was an artist I'd paint)

He strokes, gentle as the morning breeze
His brush, creating life as it goes across
His canvas.
A vision held in the internal mind,
Brought alive to express and charm, it's
Viewers.
Is it his message? Or a passion.
Wanted, willed to be expressed.

Glanced at so often.
Its price is seen. Calculated in the
scheme of existence.
The explanation blurb makes it
Real,
Sellable,
Bought,
He moves on to his next vision - picture
And picks up his brush.
Thankful that he doesn't
Have to speak to the buyer.