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.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
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