The two paintings above are intricately involved in a recent event in my studio that inspired me to write a story about it.
The event occurred in the month of June and led me to tell the tale in a non conventional format. Here is the account in verse form – I do admit it was not easy to write, although it was quite fun – hope you enjoy!
Bat Trapped in a Studio Tale
The light of dusk is slowly fading,
a sturdy metal studio chair
certain sounds patter to my right;
somewhere near my paintings by chance,
maybe butterfly or moth in flight,
in the limelight desiring dance.
Where initially I am startled,
as the noise is not too soft,
I assume enormous is this moth,
I get up and try to find out.
Let the movement continue,
this assembled situation,
allow to pinpoint the position,
approaching spot of suspicion,
so stunned a tiny talon, I believe is what I saw,
what is this I question, a butterfly with a claw?
I realize this no insect,
as I identify its condition,
a mammal in fact it seems,
a bat trapped in location,
how is this to be?
My studio doors are always open,
(not some hotel in California),
they can check-in any time they like,
and they can always leave.
Winged herald quest of liberation,
paintings are a puzzle or a maze,
searching for possible locations,
structures the senses do amaze.
The choice to be secluded,
behind the work: “The Stand”,
few canvases I remove,
to acquire some advance,
in some ways quite befitting,
a shamans’ show of stance,
of somehow stating something,
of pointing way direction,
of awareness nature yearning,
of myth or dream of own.
I wish to show it outside,
to thrust this traveler free,
pull the shackles from its wings,
but then it changes paintings,
to a more delicate entree;
a tobacco covered work,
the fragile “Scarred Icon Bebe (II)”,
which quite reluctant I am to shake.
(I hear my spouse advise,
“you must turn off the lights,
the brightness has made it ‘blind'”.
How then can I see? I nonchalantly replied;
and guard my hand from the likes
of viable capricious bites.)
Heeding her suggestion,
I proceed to dim the luster,
behind the painted canvas,
its courage begins to muster,
he finds a way to slither,
then start to fly around,
and round the room in circles,
and miss by much the door,
it crawls again exhausted,
and seems to kiss the floor.
My compassion therefore swollen,
it’s persistence I admire,
I approach this hero fallen,
entangled in its desire.
Flight finding freedom!
Out the door with a hover,
although difficult to fathom,
nature urges such a ponder,
instantly I have been heartened,
at last did it recover!