Convergence, 1952
Cluttered crowd of colours comingling from all directions blues yellows from each corner reds greens splashing spilling squirting from every angle cardinal virtues and the seven deadly sins a chorus of crashing textures and hues black white love hate good versus evil a discordant chorus of disparate dissonance like the infinite chaos of the early universe the entire astral spectrum captured, contained within one carnivorous canvas appearing to the uninitiated eye as if anyone with sticks and brushes cans of old paint and a few drinks could create a splatter similar to this – but just try it. Michael Estabrook Michael Estabrook is a recently retired baby boomer child-of-the-sixties poet freed finally after working 40 years for “The Man” and sometimes “The Woman.” No more useless meetings under florescent lights in stuffy windowless rooms. Now he’s able to devote serious time to making better poems when he’s not, of course, trying to satisfy his wife’s legendary Honey-Do List.
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July 2022
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