All Images Copyright © Alice Kelley
My friend Maureen Flora wrote a poem about this fractal:|
Sharp angles sprang at him -
clean and rainbowed.
He tried to tame it,
grayed and whitened it,
but its wings spread off the canvas
and denied him control.
He rushed to find blue
and flung a bucket of cerulean
to put out its flame.
It drank every drop
and still its scales kaleidoscoped
with red and green and orange
and purple, hints of yellow and
now, blue sang there, too.
He thought it was a bull
he could grasp by the horns
and steer and ride
laughing at his power, his control.
The dragon laughed instead.
Its claws raked his canvas
the shreds fluttering, floating,
like ash or snow.
Glittering and glowing,
the dragon swept out the open window -
claws and wings, head and back,
blocks and triangles rising
against the descent of the sun.
Picasso threw out his arms in frustration
or salute and cried
in farewell or anguish.
The dragon did not wonder or care.
All that was left in the twilight
was a wooden frame,
flecks of canvas on tables, chair, and floor,
and a big blue puddle
near the easel
as Picasso left his studio
and softly closed the door.
© 2004 Maureen Flora