
A saintly visage
Faith affixed upon a wall
In crumbling plaster
Prayer in the artist’s hand
Remnant of their devotion
Padre
A saintly visage
Faith affixed upon a wall
In crumbling plaster
Prayer in the artist’s hand
Remnant of their devotion
Padre
Rembrandt might not recognise the display
Of the studios of today
With colours bright and paints that spray
Padre
By an eye captured
By a hand adorned
With each little brushstroke
The image is formed
Is it an expression
Of its subject true?
Is that really what art’s meant to do?
Is it the spirit of the thing that’s at play?
No!
It’s that the soul of the artist that sees it that way
Padre
Where have gone the days of courtly love
Of romance from afar – so chaste
When knights errant favour sought with brave deeds
To brings a smile to a maiden’s face
But now it’s all flash and show
Sexuality – affection eclipsing
And all captured so powerfully
In two contrasting couples in this depiction
Padre
Artist’s expression
Compassion immaculate
Captured in cold stone
Padre
Vincent sat at his easel and squinted at the majesty of the queens in his vase. The Paris series had been a success. Now a year later, Arles beckoned. The pot – simple, two-toned, was a perfect tool, as was the plain wall of the studio.
“How many sunflowers?” he questioned to himself. “Ten. A dozen more or less.” He grinned to himself. “The public needn’t know how many are actually in the vase, only the number in my mind.”
With that Vincent picked up his palette and began to mix his yellows, as the lemon queens awaited their day.
Padre
Gardens are not all things of beauty
Refuges of flowers and veg
Many are spaces merely hidden
Behind a fence or hedge
But on these blank canvases of promise
Green fingers work their tricks
And soon wondrous things do bloom
Where before was only sticks
Padre
Brick and terracotta
Formed from earthy clay
Work of artisans and artists
Their ingenuity to display
From such a substance – simple
Spurned by most as dirt
It becomes things of beauty
As a master’s hands convert
Brick and terracotta
And Earth-born pottery
Ancient expressions
Of utility and artistry
Padre
While this poem is meant to sing the praises of the simple forms associated with mere clay, it is also an allegory on human worth. If we can have such accomplishments with something “spurned as dirt,” how much more can we look forward to seeing in human potential – even the from those seen as other or less?
Enter a caption
Welcome to my abode –
Here in Mayfair fine
I welcome up-and-coming talent
To decorate this place of mine
You might think that I’ve more money –
Than I do – common sense
In running down my property –
Driving down the rents
No, it’s kind of an art academy
As I hope you can plainly see
Some day, I will be the proud owner
Of a work – by the next – Banksy
Padre
MorgueFile April2020 de7d4bbd9d9bd75223d4b1456286f256
“It looks like it’s had better days,” Deidre said as she looked at the peeling paintwork.
“It don’t look much, but I assure you the timber’s sound,” the old fisherman said. “Been storin’ my nets and tackle her for right near fordy years. Only selling-up cuz I’m retirin’.”
“Only 1200, you said?” Deidre asked.
“Yessum, and twenty a month for wharf access if you’re wantin’ it.”
“Okay, when can have your nets and things out?” she asked the old fellow.
“Well all the best tackles been sold already,” he replied. “What’s left goes with the hut.”
Deidre looked at the assortment of net fragments, old floats, and a well rusted boat anchor, and said, ” Okay. It’s a deal. My lawyer just wants you to write 1200 here,” she said pointing to a place on a crisp contract, “and sign here and here.”
Thus Deidre acquired the Bayside Studio for Maritime Art. A few licks of varnish over the peeling paint was all it took to capture the rustic appeal. As for those odds and ends inside they quickly were incorporated into her first commission for an up-market couple from Boston, who said it was “Just perfect to remember their romantic seaside getaway.”
(200 words)
Padre
FLASH FICTION FOR THE PURPOSEFUL PRACTITIONER