THE QUANDARIES oil on panel 30in. x 40in. ±76.2cm. x 101.6cm. ARTIST'S WRITING CLOSER DETAILS
THE QUANDARIES Wrapped embers, red flickers, like cinder in the wool, unbright but burning through I wonder what it is that makes each day anew Peace as I may crave? Fear as I may grave? Which one leads to love, and gifts a greater life? Which one brings a chill, and casts a colder fight? I’m trapped inside this room, this dark womb of my concerns Such solitude of night invents these fevered turns Such thoughts, such threads, like toxins in my head Or are they poisons bled? Spun blessings here instead? Incitements Incentives Plucked plums, pen-named, as dread? These fears, these quandaries, these fortunes freely fed So roughly understood, so ghostly imprecise Like curtains, red burdens massed of might Restless little verdins that stitch a nightly sight? The quandaries, the quandaries Are they men or mice? I don’t know, I don’t know The thing is I don’t know Through the ceiling, to the light Outside Unalone Will I grow old, regress—see less and turn to stone? To the light Unalone Will I go blind without my night? Or will I thrive inside that light?