Artists want more than appreciation.
They want attention,
Detailed inspection,
Uninterrupted concentration.
But alas, even the Great Works engender scant attention
When wedged between a thousand masterpieces
Haunting mausoleum halls and hallways,
Each of merit.
Museum enthusiasts hungry for culture sidle by,
Stopping now and then to impart meaningful explanations
To their novice companions.
Those august galleries,
Giving way to the surrender of representation,
To text lettered on canvas,
To cacophonies of splashed colors,
To the unmethodical arrangement of objects
Intended to amuse and confuse,
To the weight of absence.
This is art now:
Immediate,
Skin deep,
Colored lights and carousels.
~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved
