exhibit

A long hallway
Red moquette
No windows,
Only artificial light
And look!
On the walls, paintings
Lots and lots of paintings
Of all sizes,
Of all shapes.
This one is tiny
It’s just the painting of an apple
Sitting on a table, by itself
The piece is labelled,
“3”
Just a few steps away
A huge frame covers the wall,
So big you can’t take a picture of it.
The composition is complex,
Various points calling for your attention
But you notice
Some parts are very detailed
Others less so
And you can’t help but wonder
Is this on purpose?
Only then you notice
This artwork has a label too.
It says, “152”
The hallway is long,
And the paintings don’t end.
Portrait, “56”
Landscape, “81”
Still life, “22”
These numbers don’t mean anything to you.
There’s even a frame
That is mostly empty
Except for a few strokes.
Its label reads:
“Not worth counting”.
You stop and think
And begin to realize
Not a painting in this room
Has been given its final stroke;
Not a painting in this room
Has been signed, or dated back then
The paintings are not on display
And this hallway
Is not for visitors.
This place is where
The author walks every day
Looking for something he can continue
So he can add a few marks
And take a few numbers off of that score.
But this never happens;
Instead he just walks to the end
And hangs a new frame
As everything else
Looms over his head
Floating so he can’t let go
For he will never learn,
For he will never rest,
For he will never live.

14/07/2025