AN ART CRITIC VISITS THE SIDDHARTHA GALLERY, NOTEBOOK IN HAND

Turn from the street where the tall trees

have been stumped to the roots,

walk on through the narrow wind of the gentrified stable

At the end of the garden restaurant

gabled doors open for you. Beneath walls

stripped of paintings, center stage,

looped in swirls of red, black and lightning

flash silver, stands a motorcycle,

its pristine exhaust pipe slung low

Gallery? or showroom? If what you see un-eases you

on the second floor a man-sized hobby horse

rides to the rescue, wild horses flickering in the shadows

On the top floor, envision it: horse and cycle

seamlessly join head and mane

to gas tank and tires, hooves and thighs

to metal. Zoom in: the cycle-horse

rises on hind legs. Step back: the hybrid wants

to be horse and something more…

That something more spreads wide long-held-back wings

we did not see before. What we see challenges us”.

That’s what the artist says

Be enthralled! What we shape uplifts us.

Splashing the walls in haze

soft halos of highway neon, a blood red Texaco horse

slips through our frack-ed up world

like a canary in a coal mine,

fever bright, draped in a flag, singed

And Burning

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