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August 17, 2005 - A poem about Art


I have been thinking
about abstraction.
About huge brushed pools,
with meaning smudged -
blurs of pure sensation
beyond the frame.
There is a divine push
and colour pull defined
even in the ripple strokes,
like feather blown breaths
one step on from canvas pins,
from paint, from turpentine.
In this picture all expands and flows
away from mortal confine with confidence it goes,
with unhindered power that shakes the edge of things,
with desire to distillate our own living.
And there, composing the scene,
with big-sky eyes of refracted gaze,
a creator clearly shows how life can bend,
be skewed without context and earthly things,
or logic’s curse to manifest or represent.
And the more I see, the more I look,
the more I look, the more I know.
But still, I fail to fully understand.
Why do artists chase blue shadows
for mysterious intent?


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