Poem: Art



This is the thing.
I do not know if it is art
or not.
For all art does not live in museums,
but people’s lives,
color and line and placement
singing a song
they never imagined.

About this poem

I have an installation of paintings at one of the local libraries for the month of September, and last Saturday we had the reception. I spent some of the time taking people through the pieces, talking about what was going on in each one and how I got there.  My work is, like the installation above from MoMA, abstract, and the people I walked through things seemed to be happy to get some explanation.

My favorite people,though, are the ones who look at my paintings (or read my poems for that matter) and find their own meanings. At that point my art is no longer mine. It is theirs, or perhaps ours, as they pull something from it that I never even conceived of.

I love that.



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