Photo by DAVID ILIFF. License: CC-BY-SA 3.0
Miniature in her picture book
there before her writ large
in the poor light of Tate Britain
as she’d stepped in from the rain
along the Thames
He transformed experience into art
Graham-Dixon led her to expect a transcendence
she was incapable of seeing through Rain
drowned by her own pedestrian concerns
that reclaimed anorexia as a
decadent destruction by control
London had smashed her brother in those
limbo years as it was threatening to crush her
under the weight of PTSD’s shock and awe
campaign of vice gripping horrors
on constant display
Could Hodgkin really remake the world?
Arrogate to himself the powers of divinity
to save her suffocating soul
from the pounding rain
and dark halls of art’s tomb?
The intimacy was unbearable –
all British glower in the half-light
of Turner’s strained, transformative glow
She was pushing against the spring
of a bear trap, his tightly wound
violence of indifference and passivity,
trying to find the romance to transmute
the artist into an avenging demigod
Chromapoetica 
I love how you made us see life through the art… both Hodgkins and Turner had their way, but I hope that the light of Turner can shine through,
Me too, Björn, I hope for and work toward the light. Thank you for your informed and insightful comment. I always appreciate your depth of engagement with poetry.
Always great to see you writing…
So nice to revisit this poem… there are those artists that have become part of the city. Hope all is well…
Hard for this Yank to immediately understand and appreciate the impact and depth of your piece Anna, all the way over here in the Pacific Northwest corner of America. But you have nudged me to research these names, and I love to discover things, facts, people – so thank you. I now know what Apophenia means. The blurb about you next to your photo makes you sound like someone with a broad perspective. I’m an old bastard (literally), born to some unknown couple, during the joy and celebration that followed the end of WWll. Benn been writing poetry for 56 years, dince age 16. I was a singer and lyricist in several rock bands for 2 decades during the 60’s, 70’s, and into the 80’s. I am also a successful mixed-medium artist, so we have some things in common. Like the name and look of your site. I will be back again the next time you post Anna.
Thank you so much for the visit and comment. I’m American too so I find some parts of British culture perplexing. Your background sounds fascinating and I’m happy to hear you have dedicated your life to music, art, and poetry. I look forward to reading more of your work. I’ve always been equally pulled by science, academia, and the arts so my path has been rather unconventional.
I’m not familiar with Turner or Hodgkin so feeling a bit dense here. I know Turner’s writing was influenced by war (if I’ve got the right Turner) So, reading again, and again. I do, btw, love the Flaubert quote.
Anna, the words, the meaning, the complexity of the ideas and the weaving of the artists and their art are simply transcendent. I read this poem on about 50 levels. I ache for your brother, I cheer for you, and like Rob, I learn from you, too.
The ending is simply brilliant: “trying to find the romance to transmute
the artist into an avenging demigod”. I feel sad that I didn’t write that. 😎
Hi Anna – I came back to visit again my friend… 🙂✌🏼🫶🏼
Anna, your vivid portrayal of stepping into Tate Britain from the rain, the exploration of Graham-Dixon’s transcendence, and the struggle with personal demons create a rich emotional landscape, and the intersection of London’s impact on both the brother and the narrator adds a poignant layer to your narrative. I love this ❤
Sincerely,
David
This is so well done, Anna. The need to transcend surrounding and harrowing experience through art is so apparent as is the desire to use it “to transmute/the artist into an avenging demigod.” The aching for peace, for resolution, somehow is something art does offer, as I hope your beautiful writing does for you.