Still Life

(1992-1993)

Act I: Still
An oil portrait
     hung in my mind—
Romantic Renaissance—
     painted for my pleasure:

But the model
moved and marred the image,
     and the mood
     that was infused
     by its hues
          has become pale.

The canvas is scrapped
     and a debate ensues—

Is the pain of painting
     begun anew;
or do I take up photography?


Act II: Animated
Glistening globs of oil pulled
from a pleasant palette splash
     upon the empty flaxen cloth creating
puddles of powerful emotion.

Horsehair bristles tickle
     the canvas
with graceful gestures arousing
     the imagination—
     the vision—
     the real.

A moving landscape emerges
more marvelous, more meaningful, more alive
     than the fruits and flowers picked
     from life and left
     on a table to rot;
captured only in a moment of study.

The frame is finally embraced.

(You can’t get that with the click of a button.)


Act III: Death
Painting landscapes in the rain
     makes for muddied palettes
          ‘cause oil and water don’t mix.

The canvas abandoned
     (no one said this was paint by number)
to flee the storm
is damaged and torn
     by the onslaught of hail and wind.

Fuchsia blends with blue—
     black and white it ain’t—
          the chroma is now mono.
(Are there more than two hundred, fifty-six shades of gray?)

And as the bloody pigment puddles drip
     the frame is stained
     and the landscape dyed.

Has anyone seen my camera?