Filled

I need something to pour myself
into.
And when I do,
my limbs will fill the empty spaces.
My mind is highly viscous, though
hopefully it will not sink to the bottom.
If it does,
just give me a mix.
With me, the glass will be half
full.

Self-Portrait

Picture Source

Nicolas Régnier: “Self-Portrait with a Portrait on an Easel”

(The Painting that Turned Its Head)

Told from the perspective of the portrait being painted

Slivers of hair on fine paintbrush,

Stain palette of those colors swarming.

First stroke on canvas slightly warming,

The texture of my skin.

With oiled pigment gently trace

The definite contour of my face.

Régnier, recall not to make haste,

My beard needs thin lines subtle.

Take that finest point of yours,

With darker shades, do lightly sprinkle

The sheer lines of my old age wrinkles,

I see you remember me well.

With gracious strokes of bright vermillion,

Dress me in that rich attire,

Your teacher, I, whom you admired,

Offered you wealth as skill.

Still, under this woven flax you trap me,

With no dimension, daubed with dye,

Use tint; put twinkles in my eye

So my gaze may solidify.

There you go, voluminized strokes.

My vigor and brace you do awake.

Do you see your teacher’s kind old face?

On your fine easel I sit.

Régnier, why do you turn away?

Shush, a faint sound I do hear;

Ah, more interruption, I fear.

Let me turn around and check who’s there.


BY JULIE CHEN