10 September 2007
Works of Art, we are...
)Published on September 10th, 2007 @ 09:15:14 am, using 339 words, 48 views
In many respects you’re as much a work of art to me now as you once wrote I was to you. A painting to me… you are. Something I’m free to look at but not to approach. You make me glance, stop, squint to try and catch the details and contemplate. If I were to take a step forward to try and look closer, I’d be matched by a man in a suit. I’d be told to keep quiet and respect the boundaries. Let’s face it, being a work of art is not necessarily a good thing. It’s isolating. Art appreciation comes with a pre-established distance. It denies you the fun of dirty hands, of inappropriateness, of miscalculation, of improvisation, the fun of art making. I see you from that kind of pre-established distance. And from where I stand, respecting the line on the floor, there’s a great deal of life to your life. Or so it appears in the stills. You’d make a good postcard, too – to be kept in a notebook and forgotten about, allowed to yellow and one day be found, remembered and admired. Not a postcard to be sent anywhere or to anyone.
This is what I’d write on the back of it:
Your forearms resting on your knees. The touching friendship between your slightly swollen hands. One, seemingly taking care of the other, holding it up. Bulging veins in and on them leading to your knuckles like covered streams. The ocean going through your head, your head southwestern bound, your eyes on some invisible ant. Your feet on ’slow sand’… firm enough sand or so it looks to me. More sand than you could fit into an hourglass. That hood as an awning to that tiny smile that keeps a secret. The secret of your beauty, perhaps? That mix of sadness and glad resignation.
This post is the creative work of Iris Watts Hirideyo and is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 License.
Works of art, paintings, postcards, appreciation, distance
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