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POEM ON A PAINTING BY ANTONIA SPOWERS



A moss-covered boulder speaks
more than a face would do, especially
when we enter into it,
when we don't see
the contour, the
isolation. For the line
drawn round the object
kills it, stops the flow,
the circulation of the blood,
and things become
merely what we think they are.
Stopping things being
what we think they are
is the painter's job.
Delaunay said of Léger
that the function doesn't function.
It is in the doing
that the painting is.

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