I have to call him something on this internet. It doesn’t let you get away with “Blue and Green Number 12” or some other stupid modern name. He has to be named something that somebody will ask for. Chances are you asked for him. If he’s not an abstract dancer painting then you can go look at one of those that look like dancers that somebody painted weird colors.
Maybe he’s an abstract bear or something else but he’s an abstract dancer painting now and he’s going to have to take his chances there.
I’m an internet artist and people are going to see me whether they like me or not! Come to think of it, how is that different from a museum. I sneak around with my keywords and people visit my museum called Google.
People see my art and it’s not wasted nor does it wait to be declared worthy.
Maybe one of my images will inspire someone somewhere.
I saw this so many years ago
On a school trip up the Hudson River to West Point.
This was before we got there
And the band was playing
And I looked into the large room on the deck
And saw her dancing.
Oh what a dancer! At one point
Her partner swung her so that the back of her head
Almost touched the floor.
And I remember a few days later
How, sitting in class next to her,
She asked if I would take her to the senior prom,
I who couldn’t dance a lick
And in my shock
I made up some excuse
And hating myself, for she was a beauty
As well as great dancer
And I even thought about it over the years
And then, finally, some sixty-five years later
In Death Notices in the morning paper
There she is, middle-aged-looking and still a beauty
And I wondered did she ever remember
Anything of that time,
Oh that time
That poor Wimpo can’t forget to this day