Yael Kaplan Visual Artis / Three time's the charm

Three time’s the charm

“Three time’s the charm”, said the woman in her pink dust swollen dress.

The man observed the gorgeous woman and his wide nose quivered.

She peeled a pear in three rounds, and the peel trailed behind her.

A slow, heavy wing clap passed over the room above the piano body.

Someone played the song of his life and placed the half empty cup - on the music rack.

Purple flower in the mother-in-law’s lapel and lacy glove on her left hand, Isn’t it a spectacular sight?

A sad expression sight hangs in the air, the hair blows in the wind.

The still air, the man sits, the sour smell, the light at the end of the tunnel.

Piles of goodness on the way home, remnants of mucous discharge, blue leaves on a branch.

Isn’t it pure poetry?

Aren’t these wounding words?

Isn’t it enough that the artist speaks in pictures?

The way is not the way. The question is always there. The observer is the only one who knows.

Ayelet Hashahar Cohen