in step with peasant monarch, revolutionary exploring history, adorning wall floor and ceiling, embodied in marble, paint, plaster a bastion to the ego of the profound a cache of, often brutal, human memory photo and poem © 2016
of straining one’s neck to view of gilt and persistence of detail and industry of commitment upon high of seeing heavenly reward of religiosity of failing to influence of superficial construct Photo and poem (c) by DC Lessoway
encapsulated rotund construction built upon pagan consecrated rock swapped to the cross millennia ago artisans crafting stone, edifice, thought they anointed, appointed dal papa Photo and poem (c) DC Lessoway
am I an artist? this question, questioning comes to me as I watch others do as they apply paint pen to paper and sell portray a character and all, move my heart my soul to ask am I an artist?
Suppose, assume, infer: a flower in regard to its reflection, pronounces: “I am beautiful, love me for it.” Or, are we projecting our egocentric definition that, beauty, indebted to the beholder, lies at a, perhaps, erroneous, hollow consideration of vogue art, fashion, lifestyle….