1.) Each Tuesday The Times 2 publishes under the title of Modern Art Explained a work of art along with views about it expressed by readers and an Expert Verdict, this last by Rachel Campbell-Johnston, The Times's resident art critic. The previous week it will have published a small image of the upcoming work - and a larger one on its website - for the benefit of readers wishing to contribute. Last week the up-coming work was Fernand Leger's Les Deux Acrobates. I did not know this work, but was so impressed by it that I e-mailed a response, never having done anything of that ilk before. Surprise, surprise, they published my response - well, part of it, contriving to give the impression that I thought there was only one acrobat, not two. My fault for being too long-winded, but there you go!
Not expecting that result I had meanwhile written a poem based upon my contribution, and that being so, and seeing no good reason why I should waste it, I am hereby inflicting it on your good selves.
Les Deux Acrobates
Caught in a headlong tumble through
space, blown apart, shown here, not as
we know they must be, but as if
we see at the height of their act -
nailed together as one, but as
one breaking up, the bits flying
off, for our eyes cannot hold them
complete in one place at one time.
They tumble and spin, rotating
so quickly we see bit by bit,
one part then another - a line
of disorder that, given more
time, would build to a man - or men -
first an arm a waist then a head,
a hand, plus a foot then a leg,
a part torn apart
from the others.
And filling the gaps
between fragments flash
swatches of background:
a skewer of light
snatch of a clown
adverts. The Big
2.) the other item that jumped to my notice was a review of the Richard Long exhibition at Tate Britain. - see my last post but one.
I have to confess that I am not sure about his texts as sculptures. I can accept them as art, but they do not seem to me to be sculptures. They are something else, something that grows on me with every one I read. Like much of his work the effect is cumulative, building on what has gone before - that is, on what you have seen or registered before.
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