Portfolio Piece: "String Player"

Materials: acrylic on canvas

reference(edited screenshot)

in-progress

final(without layers)

I'm thinking of including poems with the paintings that will be displayed at the fair....

“String Player”

The town's Christmas tree

an overgrown old pine

rocks rhythmically above our heads

Small gusts of wind puncture my chest.

Then, draw south and pull the air back 

like streamers from the magician’s mouth 

She dances, jaunty and pulsing,

drags me close on the string, and loosens it again. 

Over my years of listening, bartering, arguing, 

I found that everything has a 

signature of time. Chiefly, dialogue.

The faint, silken voice of an old guitar 

drifts down from the music hall. The night, 

frigid and subdued by frost, closes in 

around us. Yet, I breathe in hot air, 

warmed by your softly spoken words that glow rich 

and bound lightly like deer.

Murky echoes of the late-night shows 

reach my ears gargled and distorted.

nightmarish. foreign.

The night is over and yet we loiter, like animals or 

abandoned bags beneath the nebulous 

lights of the looming tree.