Room With a View
Head back, eyes slowly opening…
The plaster swirls float above timeless crown moulding like chunky clouds gently being ushered along by unseen breezes, or in a mirror effect, reach as whitecaps do, moved by silent tides: As above, so below…
Polarized, yet equally reminiscent of the fallen leaves this autumn;
fitting comfortably between the kick and snare drum hits as Tori spins somewhere in the distance, and I’m convinced by this moment:
Her vocal harmonies must taste like nectar… that of the fruit borne by the very trees from which the fallen leaves sprang forth…
Big hall reverb in this womb-like environment; magical piano notes that have learned the art of flight, each forming unique identities in the airspace between my body and my intent…
Bathing in the soft light, ‘madam painting’ still soars as well, nearly three years later, despite the fact that her frame is fastened to the left of the arched opening.
Perhaps the woman, pregnant with ideas, has simply been trying to seek out and fly through a portal leading from here to fulfillment. If so, this is the closest she has come…
©2002 Jon Mychal
Leave a Reply