Images D’art Poem by Ben Gieske

How often you visit museums to view the masterpieces of all those artists of long ago, sit on a tour bus and do not see that lady sitting there, framed with painted face and eyelids shaded cum sfumato, her hair curled with such as those of Leonardo. Ecco her eyes when she smiles.

How often you sit at a restaurant table and blink on pass the flowers dazzling their colors and shouting Van Gogh’s hello with the tableware so neatly arranged side by side and flowered napkin. You did not make to notice.

How often you bemoan those mountain folk so backward and unschooled stitching quilted collages when they are not gardening, baking or carving preserves, all the time humming and singing their remembered songs. They dance too with their fiddles and dulcimers.

How often you forget the land of the brave who with their moccasins of patterned beads and multi-colored bands danced with head dresses and flowing feathered tails. Their faces were painted for their enemies to fear. We are artists everyone.

Consider the slaves and how they fought to be free creating their recipes, sowing sun flower seeds for all to see, hanging their wash out on the line for the breezes to whistle their sheet music tunes. They kept on singing their gospel music too.

Do you click a picture of that little black girl, her hair carefully threaded and braided, all those colored beads clattering like wind chimes as she turns her head in rhythmic measures? A worthy expression of a mother’s pride.

How often do you seek out that quiet restful place just off your busy traveled thoroughfare barely visible just beyond all those plastered name brands – your created nest where you began to grow into a Lotus blossom – where you can scrawl your graffiti with flourishes in language colors and nature forms?