At sculptured forms my eyes snatch eagerly,
Dismissing at a glance the chiselled stone
And dwelling on design. The hands alone,
With questing touch, seek in humility
The nature of the stone. How readily
The finger-tips learn secrets never known
To sight. The surface – waxen, smooth as bone,
And with a constant, sweet, cool clarity.
Below the surface – can my fingers trace
The inner mystery within the art,
And reconcile both stone and sculptor’s place
Wherein each plays a complementary part?
The eyes peruse, but sculpture’s live embrace
Communicates through fingers to the heart.
In Touch
Did you enjoy the the artible “In Touch” from Mary Spain on OZOFE.COM? Do you know anyone who could enjoy it as much as you do? If so, don't hesitate to share this post to them and your other beloved ones.
Leave a Reply