Hypocrisy of the critic

by Dave

I stand
before this

Numb and

My eye arrested
more by
the craft
of the framer
the cursive
script of
the artists

Than the drab imagery,
repetitive, pylons
dotting a grey skyline.
And quilts of bocage,
breaking up
painfully etched pasture,
in shades of emerald green.

I’ve seen it all
in a thousand
student works.
My weary eyes feel
cheated by this
ugly imitation,
masquerading as
a unique creation.

But the artist is a prodigy.
So I nod and I smile
and I tell him I am
once again,
blown away
by the mastery of
his brush strokes.
I choke on my dishonesty.

The street is
with misery.
hides my tears as I
walk away from
another lie.
And the sin of
dragging beauty

Dave Kavanagh


4 Comments to “Hypocrisy of the critic”

  1. Beautifully painful, Dave.

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