Ignoring any external prompts, again. This poem derives from reading an article in the latest Turps Banana (best magazine about the art of art). It is by Andy Holden (front page of site seems duff: try Google search) about his friend Phil Root and his exhibition, A Still Life With Lemons (pdf of catalogue) at the Hidde van Seggelen Gallery, London. As it happens, the article is available as a sample download (pdf).
Talking specifically about the painting, Egg within a Ball (2010), Holden makes a stab at interpreting the work, then, after talking to Root says, ‘The painting was the product of a painting of a birds’ egg that whilst thinking about Breugel, mutated into a ball.’ There are so many ways to work on this statement, and the other ideas in the article, but the poem that eventuated spins off from the idea that there is supposed to be an egg within the ball.
(click image to link to artnet)
Egg within a Ball
but the ball is all we see.
The egg must be taken on faith
though we might use x-rays to
verify that it lay beneath. Behind?
So, the point of the egg is – what,
exactly? Just so.
The ball, though, is another matter.
Or a different matter. Unless,
the ball, too, does not exist.
Like the egg, it doesn’t bounce.
Gah! You’ll question the paint next.
At least it is dry, now, and
neatly framed. We can hang it
where its questions are rendered