The only art is rest. From the largest to the most
infinitesimal part of the Cosmos nothing is still.
It's crushing.
Allow the moment to stand out, fair, from all becoming.
This is where artifice becomes a celestial date stamp,
taking what moves and capturing it in a manner that
moves the beholder of art's supernatural stillness.
I, too, wish to become a fallen column resting midst
cool sheets of eternity. A stillness ready to move any eye
who gazes upon my Olympian reserve. In rest I become
art. Not a mirror that walks the boulevards of cities, but
the noontide expanse of blue which, above all heads,
never darkens.
Art is the stillness which moves. It is an eternal human
rebellion against the erosion of becoming.
1 comment:
"It's crushing" ... a rare definitive statement from you; I feel its immediacy ! I love it.
...David this essays' strong attempt at a more direct simplicity is refreshing. A few more snips may give way to even more purity and distillation:
I wish to be a fallen column resting (a)midst cool sheets of eternity. /// Art articulates the yearning to still a cherished moment. (Rage at me, if you must, but indulging excessive articles serve to dilute ... and contradicts your central theme of distillation.)
Rather than caps ... what about using half quotation marks ( I lack the proper terminology for this) instead, yes? Such as ... It is 'timeless human rebellion'. (Works well here, yes? ... the words are strong and serve to punctuate themselves without caps I think.)
Art is the stillness which moves. /// A stillness ready to move any eye who gazes upon my Olympian reserve ... (David, I love the contradiction and altered energies --- stillness ... movement ... reserve. These are the poetic densities which mark your special signature.) A well tuned write ... thank you for sharing this one. xox Sarai
Post a Comment