Jonahwhale by Ranjit Hoskote

Author:Ranjit Hoskote [Hoskote, Ranjit]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9789387625020
Publisher: Penguin Random House India Private Limited
Published: 2018-01-12T00:00:00+00:00

III

ARCHIPELAGO

Philip Guston, in (Pretty Much) His Own Words

A Triptych

1. Lecture

The hell with art, I said, and went through the mirror.

You couldn’t catch me for two years.

The paw that drew the first line, that’s what I was after.

Somewhere in Egypt or Ur. The Ur-line might have sprung

some magic grip over bison or deer. For here, for now,

you may want to take up these charred bones and follow.

So what else is there to work with? Black?

You can take it out with white.

Then you splash the mud over here. The window falls.

You can strap a wristwatch on that guy

who’s got a little blood on his sleeve already.

So much you want to do with pencil and eraser

because you want to be spent, to finish and sleep well,

maybe even go to a movie. But finishing is death.

Which reminds me: Am I being paid for my silence?

I should remember that because everything I say is a concert.

2. Studio Visit

A book can become a tablet can become a stone.

This lime skin is the binder.

But you want the name and the thing.

And you want the movement.

This is about painting a book in the dark, to read

when you walk blind into a curtained room.

Grab that paw and feel its pulpiness.

It’s not just a noun, not just recognition.

It’s a lamp. It’s a clock. Not just one brick on top of another.

The process is a trial and plenty of error:

a ball and splinters of grainy wood lined up on a table

and then some, and then some more.

When I get to the red head of that thing at the end

of the line, it’s going to feel like a trunk

and I’m going to want to pull it out,

pull it longer and longer.

That’s when they’ll come and look at me in my cage,

where I’m sitting and carving

a flecked rectangle of sky to look

like a book.

All the anthropologists will be talking about

this gorilla in a cage

and this gorilla in a cage won’t get a chance

to say anything.

3. Loft

Something gripped and bit at the canvas.

Did I really believe it? (Not: Did I like it?)

This paint didn’t really feel like paint.

It spoke to me. I spoke to it.

Was it true or not, under the dirty skylights?

Taking no chances, I painted the whole loft:

easels, broken chairs, electrical wire

hanging down, all the way down

to my hand, below, painting it.

I had a hard time sleeping that night.

It briefed me on looking, reported its world:

that chair, this torn cloth, oh yeah, my broken mirror

in dirty greys, fleshy pinks, ochres.

That painting was as good as a Matisse.

When I woke up, I destroyed it.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.