jan van eyck was here 1434
married the bourbon as i studied the statue in the corner,
the perfection in the sculpture is in the third dimension.
the hands can grasp the object like life’s extension.
first the eyes see– just wishing to have turned away.
touch running through the fingertips, languish and sway.
carving in cold stone makes for an everlasting survival,
relief in the wood makes for a warm lasting reprisal.
bending the metal, blowing in glass, brings delights visceral,
cast under the light, sitting on display never touched,
one might as well preference flat paintings and portraits.
all the masters: manet, goya, cezanne, klimt, picasso, van gogh, and monet;
all the styles: modern or abstract impressionism or surrealism;
the masterly chardin and The Ray, still a challenging still life;
why not love all of them? then, it caught my eye.
the writing on the wall: jan van eyck was here,1434.
married the bourbon as i studied the painting on the wall.
in a flit, i thought it would be the greatest art heist of all;
but even a copy, even a print holds following eyes locked.
master of media, master of oil, reality it mocks.
the writing on the wall: jan van eyck was here,1434.
i describe to you a painting seen many times before.
the writing on the wall: jan van eyck was here,1434.
a portrait in oil that takes a second glance or more.
under the brass chandelier the sorcerer sees all,
a larger than life fish eye circled in the lord’s passion and fall,
the wide virtual reflection of the flemish master.
as i can! as i can! the artist signs in self belief, as i can.
he painted true, the imperfections of woman and man.
legally wed or betrothed, witnessed by two on oak,
i could pick the cherries and pet the griffon,
the hand of G invented the paint of the oil, well versed.
if ever a painting this portrait begs to be touched.
just step into the opulent world of the italian arnolfini,
catch shadows of pentimento creating slight movement.
jump into canvas so rich you feel ermine and sable.
you can pet fido, smell the singe and taste the tinge of fidelity.
