The artist leaves the building.
This time he is
wrapping up
his canvases, colors, and
hairy implements.
He loads and stacks,
lines and lays his tiles, some gently
until tightly packed
for transport.
Some of them,
he jams in just seeming
to fill in
any open spaces he sees.
His neighbor, the lady
living below him,
paints furiously-impressionism,
she is no artist.
She tries to finish
her own piece
before he is gone-
before all falls muted,
from above.
Heaven forbid,
the muse is moving on
to another scene, landscape
perch, set of white walls,
half empty canvases,
or another artistic
aesthetic altogether.
Painting by Thomas Prichard Rossiter, 'A Studio Reception, Paris' c. 1841,[CC0], via Wikimedia Commons.
No comments:
Post a Comment