In a pretty little French town, Auvers-sur-Oise,
we will walk up from the station,
past that church, past that wheat field,
to his grave, against the cemetery wall,
alongside his brother Theo, and we’ll pray.
Church of Auvers-sur-Oise
Wheat Field with Crows
Daubigny’s Garden, possibly Vincent’s final painting
I prefer the mythical horse with horn.
Figuratively something desirable but difficult to obtain.
Rather than a billion-dollar start-up company definition.
Leave the myths alone. Set unicorns free.
Stop unraveling the tapestry threads of history.
A new year is drawn but shows
days recently erased still beneath. It’s repentance.
It has a long life. It bleeds
through the new work, day, life
and haunts the wet, freshly painted present.
Picasso’s 1901 Blue Period painting The Blue Room under infrared imaging revealed another portrait underneath the room scene. This pentimento is a bearded man in formal wear wearing a number of rings on his fingers. Did Pablo run out of money for a new canvas, or did he regret what he had painted?
and with soft, scented skin flushed pink
from a beating heart. And she moved.
She spoke, laughed, walked under sky acres.
Then immortalized inadequately in stone or words.
Crafted but cold, stationary, here and gone.
Walking through, you too are on display.
All of us, visitors, observing, studying, interpreting
what we see, trying to find meaning
and connection. I quietly study you studying.
And I pencil sketch our life together.