I found myself people watching at this famous art museum
Everyone seemed more interested in the moving bodies
Rather than the framed stationary views
What is art after all, to these socialites?
It’s like a psychoanalyst’s tool perhaps.
How do we see the image?
What is being analyzed and appreciated?
What was the object or the artist’s mind?
Does the artist care about peer acceptance, or the paying audience?
Observing the attendees, I felt they were involved in a dalliance
All with wine in hand hoping to look sexy, or at least, important
I have known artists who did not need flattery, not the dilettantes’ observations and usually uninformed thoughts
Dilettantes are most often anathemas to them
The artist knowing their criticism being steeped in feigned awareness of the erudite
Brings to mind, the idea of how various art forms might be perceived
Comparing randomly – Artists, Singers, Musicians and Poets
Art is left on canvas motionless but might create a moving visualization for some
The artist must wait for the observer’s reaction to his motionless painting
At that point they are an island in their mind, treading color hewed oiled waters
They are artists isolated from their sunken studio ship, hoping their canvas in a bottle is
Afloat for the finding, and for his economic rescue
A Singer, simply put, has to be heard
And is –
All one has to do is start singing out loud in public
They are instantly accepted or rejected
Determined by a willing, mostly tidily-wink-paying audience flipping coins to them
Measuring the enfilade to the musician’s grounded hat
Or, perhaps into a can. Is that where the expression “Can Can” came from?
The Musician just is –
They deliver what is trained within and translated to the instrument
It is the sound of the instrument that draws people to them
The audience sits, stands or leaves sometimes without regard for the level of expertise of the musician
The ears of the audiences are so varied audiences only stay if the sounds resonate with their habits of taste in a music genre
Musicians usually have to play in groups to survive
The street musician might be tuning his instrument to the sound made from coins dropped in the cup
Now, the Poet
They are the least of the understood
Unlike other artists, they cannot show their wares so readily
Street corners are not great venues to display a turned word
There is no flypaper trap to connect with passing sidewalk gawkers
Poetry requires full concentration
A kind of cerebral warm up before exercising the focus of imagery
Poetry is not fast food digestion on the run
It is hard to read with mustard et al, dripping off your Nathan’s
It is not window-shopping “lookey loo”
It requires unfeigned interest
How can that audience be anything but small?
The poet is the lonely one living in muted self-expression
Reading, and thinking poetically – is trumped by other artists
Artists, Singers and Musicians provide their talents to passive audiences, who but sit, stand, look and listen
Ah, the poet, the orphan of the creative world
Their soliloquy finding few, but when the audience is found, with appreciative eyes,
These grateful readers sit quietly unseen by the Poet
It is the Poet’s unknown but felt, reward