Everything that is
inspiring -
everything that is
provocative -
began its journey
to the vaulted ceiling
as either a flash
or a memory.
The artist wonders,
as he captures creation
forever in plaster:
What frowns will do
for this feckless chorus?
what's the right face
for original man
as he looks upon God?
He yearns to return
to the work of
liberation,
rescuing heroes -
rescuing gestures
and postures -
from earth made
beautiful by pressure.
So he cheats a little.
He uses the faces
of friends and foes,
when no memory of time
or flash of grace
can help him
unravel the tangle
of history.
Centuries later,
I'm beginning to think
I will never distinguish
a flash from a memory.
We manage to
hew a holiday
from a block of time,
and we go to Italy.
Paintings
make me feel as if
there is progression.
Sculptures
make me feel as if
I can meditate properly.
Frescoes
make me weep from wonder.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
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