"I am half sick of shadows," said
The Lady of Shalott.
The Lady of Shalott.
-Alfred, Lord Tennyson
I am glad it is December,
that the awful November
picture on my calendar has
flipped, that December's picture
is one I have seen in person.
Few calendar prints can capture
a painting, so while I am glad
the November goats are gone, I long
for the real thing whole
and complete and beautiful.
But this is a lie because
I love this smaller test
painting by the master's
own hand since he was
mostly blind by then and
couldn't paint the full
canvas himself.
I prefer this panel
because I remember
how the unraveling
threads in it sliced
through the picture, so
sharp the air between us
was nearly bleeding.
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