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Poem

I'm back.
Stood in from of the Marc Chagall 
That is quietly across the road

I don't know what else is quietly sitting just out of my eyeline

Whether wraparound sentences are indeed my friend

Where am I again? Ahh, here.

Experiencing a painting with more within it than I need
I love that I don't need all the content
Maybe just his use of blue
Or the fact that a background face has more detail than those centre stage

For all the reasons and none I'm in love with the glass it sits behind
From all but one angle it is invisible
So you feel nose to brushstroke
Or perhaps eye - I appreciate art in the usual fashion 

I love that people walk by it or linger
Just because I think it's great is my experience, not necessarily theirs

So I'm sat in a chair, watching people
I'm smiling because the next person photographs it
She knows it's special in its quiet placement here, without knowing perhaps 

Knowing without knowing is the best kind
Please don't let anyone tell me what I'll like, it ruins it

I love the garments people in galleries wear
A nod to artistic flair
Mine I have no idea of
Perhaps the semi brushed appearance of my hair or the fact I have a ruck sack when I should carry a handbag
Maybe the many textures in my clothes - I do like that
I could at any time be perfect for brass rubbing (should I agree)

The whistling man, didn't linger long with the painting despite giving it a second glance, the couple knew the name only - I wonder what else needs to permeate for being affected?

Knowing what you don't see, knowing more about yourself from looking

It's nice sitting in a space

Even if nothing matters or means anything

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