Untitled (1977). Oil on canvas, 19 x 16 inches.
After Luchita Hurtado
You’ve heard it said that sun ate into the black hills,
cut the landscape into rag-cloth and tied the scraps
together till all was light and skin. But there’s still
the question of your wound, Luchita. This gap
that you painted in the cliff side, in the grey stone;
this thick blue sky; this gap framed by rock and debris;
a grey feather circling down toward me. You know
when that feather falls toward the gallery
it creates a skewed field of gravity: white walls
painted inward, landscape cut to rag-cloth and light.
You cut the stone open so we could watch
layers of ground unfold like fabric lifted, then pulled tight.
From stone we came, To stone we shall return
to you Luchita: to stone, desert, paint—in turn.
/
But there’s still the question
of your gaping wound,
pulling in our gravity.
Armando Allan is a Venezuelan–British poet from London. He studied creative writing at Bath Spa University, where he was one of only two students to be awarded the Les Arnold Poetry Prize.
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