Talking art at the writers conference
Jeb says “Starry Night” was his favorite
but he gave it back.
“Oh, no,” I said, “It’s so mine.”
His lips curled in a thoughtful smile,
said, “good for you for staking a claim.”
One hangs in my study.
It’s easy to love those flat swirls,
but it’s the thick paint of the original you will lose your mind in.
I can see why Jeb relented.
There’s always a crowd at MOMA
and it’s no fun to share,
unless you’ve tasted that navy madness
looked out your own window at husks in fields,
stars that radiate, hills like Hell’s stalactites.
That starry night reigns in dreams,
promises unsurpassed beauty,
bi-polar resolution: breakdown, creation.