The other day, I was at the quite ethereal ‘Monet’s Garden’ Art Exhibition at the National Gallery of Victoria (NGV). I am not one to express my thoughts in pictures, I express them as words. As I tried to gain meaning in each painting, all I could see in my mind were potential lines of poetry.
So I was making poems in my head as I moved around the gallery and most of them were from aspects of the paintings that I took as metaphors. Perhaps that was my inner literature nerd calling out to me. Actually I was quite annoyed. Was he really feeling caged or was I just thinking too deep? What if Monet painted the leaves hiding the house just because he felt like it and thought it looked nice (in the way that I might have added a fancy word to impress the English teacher)?
Well eventually I just felt a weird need to record such work. Very weird, just ask anyone at the gallery that day. So I hunted around for a pen, found a receipt I could scrawl on and stood before the painting writing creepily whilst other gallery-goers attempted to politely squeeze past. Politely. The poem was written as I gawked at Monet’s ‘Houses of Parliament reflected on the Thames’ painting (below).
Okay folks so here is the poem:
Illusions and Reflections
– Laetitia N
Humankind is an illusion,
Melting, wavering like the oceans that surround us.
There may be the merest break in the sky.
A break we can’t see lest
Reflected in our molten imprisonment.
We are surrounded by an illusion,
We are caged by ourselves,
By what we see.
Only the faint illusion in the distance,
Obscured by fog,
Surrounded by faint lines,
Has the molten chance of being