(Exhibition, Tweed River Art Gallery, April 2013*)
She kept painting
in her cluttered rooms,
described as having
gentle light.
Those oranges —
how bright they bloom,
with what rich colour,
their pitted, dimpled skin
tactile; you know
its exact thickness
and how sweet the juice.
The cornflowers
and the marigolds
and the sunny calendulas
glow, living within
and transcending the canvas.
Her self-portraits
on the other hand
are dim, shaded,
although the expression arrests.
Luckily other artists
have painted her vivid self:
grand in her full-bosomed prime
or her candid, unashamed age —
elegantly flamboyant
in elaborate picture hat
and billowing gown,
or liver-spotted and wide-eyed
under an old sun-hat.
We watch the video.
No easel; she allocates
a tiny spot of floor
to spread her canvas,
crouches there....
Her painting arm
is swift and confident.
I look again at her 'yellow room',
her kettles,
her exotic bottles,
padded armchairs,
Persian rugs ...
Then I walk out into a gallery
full of works I'd normally find
far more interesting to me
than still life could possibly be.
This time, though,
they are pale as dust
after her vibrancy.
*It's all about the light: works by Margaret Olley from public collections
This poem submitted for Poets United's Verse First: coloured
