Still-life is still life isn’t it
Around the eggshell egg the air still moves
Inside the egg equilibrium tries to settle
On the reflective tray the tomatoes wait
If we also waited, if we waited long enough
The reflections change, change and decay
With a backdrop of nothingness
And a foreground, edged-off, much the same
What we see is in pure suspension
One artist did the decent thing
His objects hung (quince et al) on lengths of twine
Or string as we might say in the western world
The western world of the playboy
Who could well have featured in a still-life
That is, still life as a portrait
The playboy (the object) being hungover to dry
By the grip of his dominant father
Who may well have eaten the ploughman’s lunch
Which is the image, homed in on
In today’s exhibition
