Vienna

An attainment of sorts, a pietà rare. Semifactum, the figure, the undulated appearance of its curved outline, the massing of muscles and bones, although amounted and contained, deduced to dissociated principles. Fettered, nude and defiant. Or a defiant nude, but fettered too.

When I walk, underfoot the considerable tremor of dry, dense-packed snow. Squeaking, creaking, as the sum of its constructive is crunched and pierced, detecting its semblances being systematically reduced to the few precepts of things incumbent in a winter’s still. The frosted breakages from tree-falls, suddenly a broken mannerist pediment. The simple planar classicism of a wall. A triple stringcourse. Ice crystals encircled by transparent films of liquid water leaking silently, signifying substantial abstraction, the separates of intellection, each being singular and self-reliant. In minimalist desolation, moonlit snow, the figure lies equated, its alignment intensified as much by the too violent direction of will, as by too much oblivion. So created, no matter from what appropriated, pushing its conception in folded keep, dearly, dearly so.