Sound drifting rhythm infuses with the sun’s “Jukebox.”
Soft wind whispers gently between particles of dust,
Caressing the “Blue Flag,”
Two reincarnations of van Gogh’s cypresses that
All of us have seen a few blocks away
At the Modern just last September.
Here a small province of the linen is exposed like
A parchment of naked skin that stretches over
The right shoulder blade.
It leans towards the left from the spine
And dives into a subdivision of the topography.
“Take to the Air,” Daedalus urges his son.
You’ll see the world’s “Sustenance” from above.
Emerald green, magenta orchestrating aster violet, fern green,
Chrome yellow, blush pink.
On ViewDavid Findlay Jr.
March 5 – 28, 2015
Seafoam, canary yellow, choreographing coral, ruby red
In the arrivals of “Landslide,” “Low Tide,” and “Panning.”
She feels Icarus may have relished
The spectacular aerial perspective during his fall
At the edges of our peninsula
Sand dunes extending their bodies.
In between dispersed horizons, trembling diagonals,
A tickling pelvis of “Safe Haven,” is the only place
We can rest our eyes, glee.
We all are in rapport with the optic nerves,
Our bodily sensations are the splendid syncopations of sound
And Images. I may prolong my stay.
VEDO PIU TARDI!
Phong H. Bui is the Publisher and Artistic Director of the Brooklyn Rail.