Here, Besides

Based on ‘Woman with a Parasol Facing Left’ by Claude Monet.   Here, Besides In cleansing a pigment-encrusted brush, who turns their nails to scrape the clay-colored sands and play with the corals that sprout from a cup of clouded sea? Where blue bonnets can be, who dares to wash a wonder that is a…

Stable

Based on Paul Delaroche’s ‘ ‘The Execution of Lady Jane Grey’. Stable I imagine the Savior of the world, when in seeing the hands of our lowly estate position lambs such as Jane for the slaughter, so mourns the suffering of a daughter whose blood will be spilt upon a tilted altar and served in a…

Johnsy

Based off J.E.H. MacDonald’s ‘The Tangled Garden’. Johnsy When paths aren’t all that tangled, and dreams are spun and cast, and bushels aren’t as fragrant as the gardens we have passed, will you still sing of Behrman, when you rise to note what’s last? When some boats aren’t that sturdy and beaches boast as grand…

Jeanne

Based on La Rêverie by Renoir. Jeanne Who would believe that dew drops could birth dimples or that the hope of spring could stir the lily that is my daughter? The water to a forget-me-not field, reaching towards the sun, with the gleam of its warmth in her eyes. My surprise, when in seasons I…

Sole

February 7th: Based on Van Gogh’s ‘A Pair of Wooden Shoes’. Sole I asked of the cobbler, “Is it possible to craft a soleless shoe?”   to which he replied, “You’re a thing of possibility as tied to a body that carries. Who bleeds what is not red and sleeps on that which is not…

Untitled:

Inspired by a sketch of The Prodigal’s Return by Sir Edward John Poynter. Into your arms, I return, confessing with a heaving heart and cleaving to your familiar robes to stanch the wounds I accrued by pursuing a blind ambition I’d called sight. How humbling to know it is you who are right and I…

Rib

Inspired by: Double portrait of Marie Krøyer and P.S. Krøyer. The couple portrayed one another (1890). Rib With the working of two hands we note one rib as she pecks the cage of canvas so that others might stitch a coat from the flakes of our fallen fibres. Frustrated over a form her hand cannot…