Nude Model by David Sutherland

"It is my art," he whispers, "stand still."
And his inflection with brush on canvas


Widens the curve of a stroke.
"But in the long run it is perfection!"


Clean symmetries of breast and buttocks
Paired in a relentless obsession for order.


His is an art in a world in a studio
The brass rubbing of an idealism gone stale


While under the thick smell of acrylic
And fumes I wince to his dismay.


As maybe Vermeer's painted ladies,
Or Modigliani's distortion of physics


Might have turned with similar affectation,
How much damaged goods endear us.

Copyright © 1998, 1999 by David Sutherland
Reflections can be sent to David Sutherland.

 

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