Skillful, quiet, all the masters paint their work carefully presented for the shadow and me most, blocked by the wall, make no attempt to see; and their arms blindly create.
But one, confused by his own existence makes that crucial turn of the head, revealing the five faces of humanity teeming with their creators, staring indifferently back each different but the same.
Across the broken road, divided the silent tools of mental evolution stand casting widening shadows in the light-beam of time with their swift obedience to the man in command who could prove his oblong head …a perfect cube.
The viewer, watching from a well lit room in some living cement tomb at the final creation
Where matter melts tired threads in a well-knit web we’re but a soft mourning’s breeze rippling through the morning dew.
The portent of a tired dawn-set at the start-end of the now-healed lane heralds the change that’s been here all the same.
When one wonders from whence this all came a crack appears in the sky to reveal the blazing secret of reality… when two get together, there’s really three!
“Oh, but what does this mean to me?”
Painting 1:
The Human Condition