The Artist Looks at Nature
It carries the weight of perspective.
The observer both central and oblique.
At once precise and fanciful - on a whim.
Within the green frame of the world
the artist paints his own picture.
The walls divide but do not conquer rolling hills.
Treating that trickster, perspective,
with the soft brush of a green hand,
and surreal photographic precision,
the artist bends it to the will of his vision.
The hills and walls exist in uneasy harmony.
The easel on which he works commands his eye.
And, in that eye, is the precise moment of creation.
The world outside this moment is our illusion,
or, it is the bedrock upon which we stand.
On Viewing Sheeler
02 Saturday May 2026
Posted in poems
Poetry on the run 