Art imitating Life.

ART GALLERY

     by M. Veronica N. Callanta

 

I stand before a crowd

            With verbal sound ceasing to exist—

Only the swooshing and gliding

            Of brushes on canvas.

 

Though I’d pose for the sake of art,

            I don’t consider every piece of  flesh

Of my silhouette as what they think it is.

            Every flaw, freckle and birthmark

Displayed for everyone to see.

            Even the most hidden of areas are left unreserved.

 

Apathy rushes through the rivers of my blood—

            My eyes dead in the empty air;

Though eyes, lips and noses

            Are stories of colored canvases;

I have no story.

            I come off blank.

 

I am the subject.

            Let them capture every curve of my body;

Make or break me into something they want me to be.

            The outlines of my body intricately being translated on canvas.

I will slouch my shoulders to show some widow in grief.

            I will arch my back to show the line of a bent bamboo tree.

Let their hands conquer the valley between my breasts,

            This woman’s chest.

 

I silently sit and pose.

            What exudes from me as I just sit still?

Do I resemble the flesh and blood they constantly make love with

            Or do I share the same flaws and wrinkles

Of their mistresses?

 

I ignore the thought

of my body redefined by their brushes.

Yet, I am left with no other choice

            But to frown on my portrait constrained

Within frames.

 

Displayed. Admired…

            Beautiful.

 

Now,

            Tilt your head

And walk away.





.......

My little sister's first published work... =)

***My picture when I was 14... taken by my cousin, Brian Sergio and exhibited during last August's "Crapola" at Pablo Gallery.