Where I volunteer and do printmaking in the basement
Woman walks in, tries it on
“Sterling silver,” she says.
I nod.
Buys it on impulse
With sea glass
And the gray dull hoops
Interlocking like a magician’s trick.
The cracked looking vase,
Of black lines made from horse hair
Stuck to the clay into the kiln
Mark the descending apricot to rose base,
Sits on a while cube stand
Below the giant felted sea turtle
Hanging by fish line in the window,
A mere $4, 000 and change.
I sit behind the counter register.
The art calls, cries.
Little earrings of stones, metal bits, and beads
Squeak like mice, “Come and get us wee cuties!”
The paintings loom like sages,
Of old barns, paths, trees, season-scapes,
Saying, “You cannot capture us,
Only glimpse from afar.
The handmade cards pop with color,
Bouncing up and down for attention on the rack.
The stairs up to the artist studios/displays
Are painted step by step with flowers
Stacked for a full image.
Ascending brings hope,
Those many mysteries awaiting:
Origami and felt, scarves and watercolors
Coming to settle on so many tables, hangers, and walls.
Cubicles of joy!
Basement broods, “Come see me, if you like”.
Down those concrete steps
Lay ceramic, printmaking and miscellaneous cubbies for rent.
The Laguna press faces you,
A green giant stoic
Waiting for you to come to him.
The ceramics hide around the corner,
Shelf after shelf holds pottery and imaginations,
Made physical in 3D.
Colors of glaze in buckets,
An eternity of clay blocks in 25lb bags,
A kiln, windows, unlike for the printers,
And the back door open to members with keys,
The very key I hold, to unlock my own longing
For mastery of an ancient art made modern,
Like Kung Fu taught to the gweilo.
This month’s featured artist
Made the masterpiece turtle.
Her figurines have graceful long necks, tails,
Mythical creatures of combined animals
And half-people,
Wire frame and colored stuffing
Fill out the representations.
How I long for a patch of wall
To put my linocut print on mashed paper framed.
Could we ever be loved in our art,
Besides our rooms and halls at home?
I didn’t see you walk in, but I heard you.
The little bell jingled,
You came in wide open
In mind and eyes
Devouring the images
Like snapshots in your heart.
Perhaps eternity lies in an art gallery
And I am the station master,
Checking you in, checking you out.
By reading this, I was checking you out… Or at least checking out your working environs that are indeed very artistic and pleasing to be around. Your poem is like a painting of many facets of the little shop of niceties described. I know your words only hit the high points, but they certainly hit a high point with me.
There's an collage quality to this piece that allows each stanza to become it's own story. Also, you've captured (perhaps more in the subtext) the multi-faceted tastes in artistic expression. Perhaps most important, you don't take yourself too seriously, imbuing the read with a touch of humor that allows it to remain accessible to all. Well done.
This collection of poetry addresses the nature of time, reflections on the natural world, the difficulty of loss,
contemporary social issues and gratitude for life.
Under Amber Skies, written by author and poet Jill Eisnaugle, is a wonderful collection of rhyming poetry guaranteed to please every reader. In this, her second book, she writes of new friendships kindled, as well as old friendships solidified. She g
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Ron
enjoyed the read, well said, sounds a place to visit and soak up some of the atmosphere you bring alive
m