The Open Gallery Stream of Consciousness I Sailed Until I Saw Lenore
by Job Conger
Sitting on a couch at The Pharmacy,
open night at the gallery,
surveying a wide open corner
of painted works in progress,
color-spangled panorama.
I’m an observeer without
brush or camera
armed with a wire apiral bound
around lined paper and a pen
to account for the movement of moments –
the siren sound from the open front door
one flash of red light splashes against a distant wall –
very soon, again, the patter
of patter
on a rain-besotted, chilly,
put-on-a-light-jacket early evening
of the fresh new fall.
The commerce
of conversation
going somewhere
doing something
Dustin with his guitar
and friend Mike drift in
through the side door,
but the music-patter-jazz
in the background
isn’t too bad for now.
I’m sketching with a pen,
not writing pictures,
but pixels
without form
without direction,
not seeking direction,
but understanding
how quantity,
from the right perspective,
takes on form,
eventually,
through the marvelous
consequence
of coincidence
if not focused passion
of reaching for a
perceived reason
to be.
The goal: non-existent.
The guide gushes a speech-song
melodic to visitors here
for their first time,
eager to share,
a youth expounding
engaging, smiling
rainbow conviviality
laughter in the chill,
firecracker sympatico
asking no ground;
sharing ground.
The informality of it all.
The brim of my hat
worn to this place
almost hides my eyes –
the windows to my heart –
from the visitors.
Then . . . . cataclysmic revelation:
a woman I thought I would
never see again
and I see her now,
She sees me
never flinching
in her polite smile
for the tour guide
and I disconnect from the stream
and sit
head down
absolutely
still.
written at The Pharmacy arts gallery, South Grand at Pasfield
sometime in early evening
