Gordon Freeman Freeman itibaren 11020 Bard AO, Italia
At smart gallery openings I might well have booed And my gallery brochure surreptitiously chewed When those art critics drooled, billed and (yes) cooed And babbled forth theories increasingly pseud (And later made purchases financially shrewd) Over the great and the not so great American nude (Private parts not so private and expressions so lewd And with disturbing symbolism imbued) And the many unlovely paintings of food (pizzas, burgers, all multihued) And the slapdash portraits, deliberately crude Because a lot of this stuff should be harshly poo-poohed Instead of feted and crated and bought and woo-wooed There’s a grumpy grandma in a really bad mood There’s a wolf (!) with a walking stick who’s completely unglued There’s a vampire who looks like she’s just been shampooed There’s a still life with lemons, there’s a demonic brood The hysterical, the camp and the pleasantly subdued There’s op, pop and crap and a girl in a snood But then there’s a lot here which has to be viewed It’s a Babel, a hotch potch, a blaring multitude It’s a beautiful verisimilitude This stuff is us, it’s our lives, so it does not exclude The ugly and the trivial and the horribly rude It's our memento mori and our beatitude And on that banal note I shall finally conclude.