Modern art is the body of an increasing awareness of who we are.
We are fields of energy. When we gather near these canvases
we begin to feel the polarity of a unified existence.
The Ancients knew it, but it was still in their laughter
and a landscape that was not wild,
only throbbing to speak through their stories.
It takes a movement to the essence of things
to see what they are composed of is not what they are.
There is an emergence of gifts that the Ancients knew
would together define their Odyssey.
They are still sailing in the ever changing ways
we construct the entrance to our homes.
We embrace a forest or a radio wave and long to cover
the ground that brings them into a single room.
A leaf is swept across the floor.
All other objects become dependent on its captivity.
We stand in the evidence and become like Moderns
in touch with the objects flowing through our homes.
Others greet us, and eventually a painting is hung on the wall.
The non-objectified paint on canvas makes the Ancients smile
at the accidental collectivity of ourselves and our surroundings.
The ether of the church lets us feel comfortable
as a random collection of atoms.
Matchsticks are struck together in unison,
flickering for the same brief instant,
measured until it dwindles to a pinch,
and then held in permanent.
There are other ways we could be put together,
but we already have these gifts so why not use them?
There have to be museums, places where the fine mist
of silence can take on ages gone by.
The Ancients are speaking at the top of their lungs,
but we can barely hear them.
They are saying that's what I would have painted naturally.