more image inspiration
This week’s optional assignment is to find a painting or photograph or piece of visual art and somehow describe it. But go further: be in it. Become the model or the painter. The more famous the work of art, the better, because then we know just what piece of art.
So this week, if you want, try stepping inside a work of art and writing from that perspective.
Arrangement in Grey and Black: Portrait of the Painter's Mother
1871; Oil on canvas, 144.3 x 162.5 cm; Musée d'Orsay,
Whistler, James Abbott McNeill (1834-1903). American-born painter and graphic artist, active mainly in
For me, as here I sit,
Motionless; barely breathing,
While he looks, and looks again.
Then...dab, stroke, rub,
Look again.
Never a word uttered.
Only the sound of our breathing,
the bristles brushing canvas.
These aching bones, so stiff,
Will creak loudly when at
Last I'm allowed to stir.
How did I come to this?
Sitting still as a stone
While supper burns!
posted by rel at 7:46 PM
23 Comments:
I love it. This made me laugh out loud - it so sounds like a cranky mother who does something for her son out of love but is exasperated with him just the same. The language makes it even truer.
Rel,
You definitely captured what had to be extremely frustrating, sitting and sitting, and sitting! I could hear the breathing, the bristles brushing canvas... Well done!
And thank you for visiting. You always leave such kind comments!
I love the way your poem changes my idea of what the woman is doing - sitting for a portrait, I've always thought - but in your poem it is more like she's immobilized by the life inside, and the life in reality. I love it.
one of the most fully fleshed out takes on the prompt this week! good job!
Great post!!!
Enjoyed my visit
I simply couldn't stop laughing. One of the best posts for PT this week.
"How did I come to this?
Sitting still as a stone
While supper burns..."
Indeed!!!
What an interesting and intriguing concept! Great! :)
Hi Rel,
It's the young flirt. ;)
Love your poem, the first thing that came to mind is, what mothers will do for their children.
The other one was how practical she is, where as her talented son has his head in the clouds.
Rose
xo
Ho hum, another great poem by Rel. I should just go off by myself. No one needs me. :)
A mothers lament, "famous? Why do you need to be famous? I just want to make you dinner!"
She does have that resigned look on her face that a mother often wears! I enjoyed this very much.
I am laughing at the last line. Nice twist. Glad you are feeling better.
So funny! I think humor is one of the most difficult emotions to capture and you really did it well!
You did this one very well, really captured her.
I made it bigger and her face really relected your words. Her face does not fit with the outfit but it does with an apron wanting to tend to supper. Good eye Rel!
This was very cute Rel....you did a good job. As Tys Mother or Bens Mother, they would never get me to sit still that long!
I'm late on this, Rel, but the poem was just perfect. She must be a widow, I assume, with the black dress... the first few lines made me sad.
But her son is what keeps her going, I am sure. Her artist son- and that's probably his dinner she put on for him as well!
Well done indeed!
That was awesome. You know that's exactly what she was thinking.
LOL. What she needs is a computer in front of her! After sitting at mine for too long I am so stiff I can hardly get up to stir the burning supper!
Enjoyable read. The poem was well structured and carried out.
Lol oh Rel, that was brilliant! Here I was getting to feel so sorry for the old woman and all she's really worried about is supper burning! hehe Have a wonderful weekend my friend, I'm off to the Sugar Bush!! xox
Such a nice blog. Very nice reading to. Hug Stina
I love the ending--while supper burns.
Looks like we both had creaky bones in mind this week. Great take on the challenge.
Thanks for stopping by.
I think you nailed it. She became real.
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