Paintings and Poem by Abe V Rotor
Movements in art come and go, short lived or enduring,
laid forgotten, or into schools they bloom;
the daring weaned from the masters must tread on and on
outside convention hall to freely roam.
The artist is no constant, nor equation the rule of art;
more so with vision, however art is seen;
people move, they arrive, depart, transient or domestic,
everywhere, every thing's ever changing.
And yet the urge to return is primordial at the end -
the homing instinct in convergence;
art paves the road, clears the sky, rings the chime
in poignant familial obedience. ~