What Had Been Barren

Lines.

These build plays, contain waxy crayon, organize the captured image. These set apart the open from the shut.

Ah, Lines! busy or not, their office remains the same. They themselves might be stuck – their dimensions decided by something with volume – but they still, still and stretched, mark the three-dimensional world and ascribe meaning to what had been barren.


A friend of mine recently was told his art was “insubstantial”. I haven’t a clue as to what provides substance to art…but I could not help balking at whoever-it-was’s presumption. Who can criticize? What is it that, notwithstanding that it does exist, makes good art? Something certainly does give art merit.

I recognize the Line as this benefactor to art, in a way; the Line that gives shape to melody, that defines the limits in shape, that shapes the definition of giving, that limits the generosity of definition.

The artist lines the pockets of the public heart –
The public heart lines up the art along the street –
The street lines the round earth like stitching -
The stitching lines the fabric and the body -
The body lines the horizon in conflict –
The conflict lines our fists against the enemy –
The enemy lines exist as perspective skews.
______And so the pattern, linear and succinct, snaps.

Ah, lines!

And then, of course, there are curves.

Journal Comments

  • berndt2