Like church, the art museum offers free admission.
Priceless art, for free.
But no. I remind myself: nothing is free because everything has been paid for by someone.
I imagine sitting before Picasso’s Guernica.
The Guernica is silent. It hangs there, unobtrusive. Patient. I can decide whether to sit and let it in or walk on by. You decide, says art. I know another who hangs and waits for me to stop walking by. To stop walking altogether. Stop. He says. Sit. His unobtrusiveness we call free will.
I imagine stepping inside the Guernica.
I am the bull and the gored horse and the screaming women. I am the broken baby and the severed head and the bull. I am the watchful eye and the bull. I am the pieces of legs and knees and the bull. I am the blades in the mouths and the bull. Mostly, I am confused.
I try to imagine Picasso clutching his palette of grey hues, hunched over, touching paint to the canvas, communing with his beloved art. I try until my eyes dry out, until the small of my back aches, and I stop hearing the pacing, lionesque steps of the docent behind me. My back is bowed from my time on the unforgiving bench trying to fit myself into the angular mind of Picasso and failing because even when I put myself in another’s shoes, it’s still me in there. Me, the old dog who wonders if she can be taught. If she can train herself to see like Picasso, in black and white and grey.
KL Griffiths 
This painting shows struggle, death, dispair, and destruction. A tearing apart of a country, that rebuilt itself.
Yes…Picasso meant it as one thing, and I took it in another direction. Can’t exactly ever know what someone else is thinking.
This is brilliant. Ekphrasis at its best. I love how you personalised everything. It made me a part of the art and your journey. I enjoyed this piece. It gave me a lot of ideas.
How funny, Nitin! Because your last piece (Perturbation) was one of my inspirations (your voice). I look forward to what you make with any inspiration my humble blog gives you.
Perturbation finds its birth in the religious struggle that has plagued me all my life. It’s a confessional or at least a semi confessional poem. I’m humbled that it inspired you. It means a lot to me. I’ve always wanted to write a piece based on a painting or a work of art. I usually write my pieces and then look for the images. Your piece made me want to try things the other way around.
Would you like to write for a collective? I started one with a friend a few years ago. theliteratimafia.com It grew rapidly, but then things slowed down. I wish to revive it. Contact me if you’re interested.
I love your comparison of art to church. And, I’ll tell you, I have not sat and stewed with the latter in too long. I know just because I can’t enter my church doesn’t mean I shouldn’t sit with Him a while. (I should sit with art a while too, but first thing’s first.) Thank you for letting me be inspired to go off on my own tangent. Thank you for always inspiring me! Hope you’re well, friend!
Last year I was lucky enough to visit the actual town in Spain. So pretty (now), so much destroyed–there’s a tribute to Picasso there and a replica of his painting–“life-sized,” I think. The people there suffered terribly.
Here’s a funny thing: last Sunday my pastor mentioned Picasso’s Guernica in the sermon. Not one you often hear about.
At least in sermons. 🙂