Francis Bacon’s
Head VI can quickly inspire a poem.
The claustrophobia within that cage, the tassel that suggests he has been interred
with a hornet. That grotesque scream,
unmitigated by eyes. Is he caged for our protection; his protection; is it
representative of a state of mind or a metaphor for his position; is it pain or
aggression?
So many of
his works are raw emotion; for me, no other artist hits the gut with such
power. All those possibilities carry a different poem; I keep a collage of some
of his and other images on our box room wall.
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