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Gallery, Harpers Ferry, West Virginia

"Hoooo! HooOOO!" I hear the howling
of the bone-white house, as, on all sides,
wailing wind whips black branches into tangles
of clutching tentacles that rise from a formless
black blob, as, just across a shimmering
ectoplasmic torrent, leaning back, aghast,
over the rim of a chasm, a rickety wooden fence
struggles to maintain perspective.

Or old scaling wood and white-washed brick
sprinkled with last red and orange droplets
of autumn, traces of snow, lace of bare
branches, lively, but serene--but still
the rickety wooden fence (the hero
of this painting) struggles--beside this icy
road that threatens to cascade vertically
from purple mountain right down off the bottom
of the canvas onto our feet--struggles
to maintain a reasonable perspective.

Across the road a black blob of embankment
throbs in and out of depth, acquiring it
from fence, wall, and other taperings, and,
like a heartbeat, losing it, becoming,
before our eyes, an abyss from which
tentacles grope, then resolving again
into sculpted space.

See how the rush of formlessness on either side
of the fence has given its subtle reticular twisting
a huge burden of depth to comprehend,
how simply by being true to its own structure,
this fence holds its whole world true to itself.

Dean Blehert

Last Updated: October 6, 2002

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