Art, Life and the Creation of Meaning

Somehow the parts do not fit together.
Each piece largely perfect,
each, the artist assures us
with a purpose in element and placement.
The rugged columns.
The gurneys all slick in metal and vinyl.
Odds and ends scattered on the floor.
Light and shadow moving throughout the day.
An installation, they call it. Placed. Purposefully.
And not unlike your life, there are components
that make sense, and components that do not.

Part of the fun, in art and in life,
to play the guessing game, maybe this means “X”.
or “Y”. or something else. Take what you know
and what you have experienced and for a time
play sleuth, Trying to understand.

In the end, I generally surrender
and let myself take it in. The mood of the thing,
color and texture and placement. Perhaps,
now and again, sound. Feel it
rather than understand. Art and life
both share the same secret.
Nothing, remember that, nothing
has meaning beyond
what we allow.

About this poem

We want things to have meaning. We do. A long life has taught me more times than not, we create that meaning. That does not make it less true. It makes it more ours.

I am a poet and an abstract artist and I am constantly surprised at the meaning that people give my work. Sometimes it is close to my idea of the meaning. Sometimes it is no where close. I just tell them they are right. Because in a way, they are.

Potry is never about one thing.

The photograph was taken at Mass MoCA. The Mass Museum of Contemporary Art.

Tom