Galleries
Walking into the intense heat
of a gallery, over-coated
and dripping, expecting
canvass to speak
without the commotion of words
I will either be stunned
or unimpressed but invariably
silent, appraising
shattered faces, elephant
dung or flesh
draped over tines and clocks.
If it offers nothing up
I will add a twist of my own, conjure
violent scenes the far side
of a Mondrian; or Turner
in spectacles, hurling
his brushes into the sunset.
Sculptures generally take
the sweat out of it. Even
the most elusive tangle of wires,
fold of silk, or wooden block
arrangement is evocative
in some way;
the frameworks
in which we live and breath.
From the blank page
to the Empire State, each of us
represented by one pixel
in the bigger picture; the TV crowd
And every structure, a repetition
of ourselves or our lovers
turning up everywhere we look,
signalling some apt association
known only to us.
Julia Stothard is a data report writer, living and working in Surrey. Poems have appeared in South, Weyfarers, Orbis and other poetry magazines. Her latest project, #Tercets for twitter, can be followed at @TerzaVerse on twitter.