A piece of writing which came from soaking up a great collection of inspiring paintings: 50 Portraits You Should Know (if you’re interested in buying the book, don’t give any of your hard-earned cash to Bezos, Abebooks and Amazon).
Velasquez brings Hackman; Campin‘s Fat Man much broader
to ‘semblance the fellow fighting thoughtful on an rigid righteous order.
1433: who’d imagine it’s a Hartnell with such crusty appeal
Gazed sockets, Simonetta, giraffe sneck posited feel.
The furore bother Durer pose, nothing but a posture;
an eye on self-sitter and one for the future.
Convinced many to humour his muted browns… bashful, toned down.
Said wicked wolverine attire denotes the ‘Me’ in this old ‘ssiah.
The Doge, Lovedan, much a reproachful motherfucker
stone cast in mid-shot Cluedo card – STOP – bog-eyed liege-like rot.
Raeburn Walker skates and talks Pharrell titfers with black benign sceptres.
I’ve seen Goya‘s Alba queen, hoity-toity
not this scene, its ambiguity leans towards
this eyebrows-raised keening to show sultry,
haughty class and – it’s hinted – a fine ass.
Monet‘s mannered pants in a Zola-fixed stance
as spied in once a painting from a person’s Clapham-setting.
Loving Degas‘ white-backed Cassatt shown within his mold of space and cave; Singer
Sergeant inspired Dahl with his jaunt-filled sexy show
though it’s a pity Roald went so bitter; anti-semite
such a sticker
of a deviant portrailer.
Schiele slapped thin lines.
A pink-readened blue height.
Not sure of Kahlo‘s squared beads, but heed our ideals
seldom seem to always be there ever more.
Chucking one’s own ideas, often thought it, could be
a sign of spoilage breaking forth?
Simply looking for a he.
© Pat Mellow 2018