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Trees - what are they,
whitebeam, elm, sessile oak?
They draw the middle ground
to the scrubbed rocks and
twiggy shrubs above the river.
The river is a knife wound
dragging the viewer's eye
along the oblique slate diagonal.
The slatted one-storied farmhouse
is partially obscured by the trees.
Chimney smoke bleeds into
the low rain-bearing clouds,
and the adjacent aluminium barn
swells like a tumour of light.
It splits the sheep fields
from the blue foothills
that rise to needled peaks
the colour of dried blood.
The piece is called Flight,
so I'm looking for a sign:
birds, an aeroplane, a young man
running scared with a smoking gun...
I stare intently at the surface
craquelure and impasto until
I've narrowed it down
to the tiny face of a woman at a window
staring directly out from the canvas.
What kind of expression is that?
Who the hell does she think she is looking at?
© Andrew Boobier
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