Am I the stairs or climbing it?

              

Having moved through the years like clouds;

reached a crescendo, passed through it,

and still travelling to an ending.

Upward or downward?

It seems like the perspective of height;

the weighing up of the steps that have brought me here,

each built one atop the other,

but sometimes contrary like Escher’s stairs,

labyrinthine, incomprehensible like a mind;

maybe I am.

        

Left Field Self-Portraits

 

I think the process of writing good poetry is very similar to painting in non-conventional styles, in some ways there is more in common here  than there is with prose-writing. The more radical the approach the more interesting. Here is a selection of self-portraits that stand out; artists that can do these, I think must have that poetry thing. Indeed I think dwelling on any of these for a while might well inspire a poem.

 

 

Schiele in typical Schiele fashion

Francesco Parmigianino's Self Portrait in a Convex Mirror; I love the hand.

Tintoretto seeing himself with rheumy eyes

Dali company-keeping with bacon: Soft Self-Portrait with Fried Bacon

Escher Self-Portrait 1919 Woodcut

 

 Crespi Self-Portrait

 

Courbet (forgot his mobile)

Difficult to decide which Kahlo, but this has some of her trademarks

Francis Bacon looking pensive.