Assemblage

I used to shape clay and plaster pieces

Humble offerings to please the senses

An obvious output; physical forms

Showcasing creativity, skill

Made at the behest of secondary education

But another part, less known

Students of art learn to build plinths

Upon which to elevate their work

I would buy MDF

Cut it to size, mitre seamless edges

Sanded, painted, balanced and level

Hold my breath as plexiglass was scored and snapped

Beading adhesive with precision

So as not to mark its transparent surface

It was the boring precursor

Humble box hiding in the shadows of showy curves

Older, wiser; now I see power

Necessary work is laborious

Thinking, measuring (twice)

Braving a bandsaw for the first time

Entrusted with sharp blades

Coupled with an expectation

We would not lose a finger

Only we knew

Pedestals were made by our own hands

And now you know too

How many times have you built

The foundation upon which you stand

Aspired to a standard of excellence

Beyond your skill

Rising up to the occasion

Utilizing courage and determination

No one sees that side

They view your polished end product

Laissez-faire comments and shares

Scrolling past it a second later

Forgotten in a flash

Hands remember forever, slivers and callouses

(Permanently sticky fingers)

Fixing brad nails poking out of cheap wood

The frustration of trial and error, wasted time and materials

But it was never actually a loss

For we learned to fail

To rise up again and again

Making something no one would ever deign to notice

Except I do

At galleries, I admire beautiful compositions

Get lost in their exquisite detail

Disinterested pleasure freely offered for the taking

Yet I always look to see if the plinths hold up to scrutiny

Expert construction elicits a smile

For the nameless prism

Underneath breathtaking bronze

Famous artists do not build their own plinths

Still, they know a good one when they see it

Perhaps a plinth is an altar

(A trite comparison, assuredly)

The sturdy surface that supports ascension

Do the gods revel in its assemblage?

I dearly hope so

For if my small mind does

Then they too will surely know

What it means to make an earth

To hold up heaven