Viewing the dawn: Namibia

     

This image is featured in the current edition of 'Outdoor Photography'

Legacy

Legacy

What is it about a face

Never seen or met

But whose image

Stays in the mind?

The painter saw him

And now I see him

Centuries later,

but I'm caught.

The painter can't have lied

About his look: it's not grand

Or status laden,

He gazes from the picture

With a humble humanity.

He is pained:

Either he or

The world is in trouble

And his sorrow for it

 Can be read

In crumpled brows

And patient eyes.

I’d like to talk with this man.

When we die, we leave

Little behind beyond family,

Memories and goods perhaps:

All transitory traces.

The title of the painting

Tags him as ‘robusto’ –

A poor testimonial.

It is not his size which captures attention.

To be known for an expression

And of compassion particularly,

is a truer memorial:

A legacy given to us

By a man and his painter

Whose souls met

And touched.

The painting is thought to be of Robert de Masmines c 1425

by Robert Campin. It is titled Retrato de un hombre robusto

Norfolk

The Photograph

The exhibit was a muddle,

A clutter of metal, alone in a room.

Shadow and light gave effect

But eye and brain struggled for more,

 What meaning should we take away?

An icon of two feet,

An instruction to stand there

And "use your camera".

Unusual, and breaking

The normal 'showpiece' mode.

What was confusion,

simplified into message:

"It is not chaos".

The camera's lens

Brought clarity.

The eye had failed

To see the truth,

We had seen what was

And not the space between,

Mess, had deliberate form.

How often we think we see,

Know, understand, empathise

Only later to find the facts

Other than what we thought.

Space brings its own shading.

Republic of Azerbaijan Exhibit

 Biennale Venice 2013

Venice

Venice Reflections

Kimpton Church

The pillars lean now

Tipped by angels dancing up

Sliding down, from God.

March Cold

On first visiting a Spa - for a 'treatment'

I didn't fit in.

My jeans and fleecy top

was not the garb of design.

The white butterflies around me

were in towelling robes and mules.

The darkened relaxation room

with water trickling,

pipe music piped,

candles and daybeds

oozed cliché calm.

I read 'coded Shakespeare'

with interest but aware,

oh so aware of the 

tinkle laughs and twitter

of my neighbours:

a moth amongst cabbage whites.

Even my drink was wrong,

my black coffee shuddered

in its tea cup amongst

spa water and elderflower.

I was called and guided

along sultry darkened corridors,

the breathy music piped on

subtle, soothing, quiet -

I lay on the operating table

being stroked and anointed,

pampered with care.

The cliché lived on but

the harsh Australian tones 

of the masseuse  didn't fit either.

We laughed a bit,

I was relaxed,

I liked the balms,

My anti ageing unguents

tried their best......

to cancel out 

the birthday reality

of tomorrow. 

Tromso, Norway