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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & General Editor
Volume 7, Number 3, September 2013

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Gary LeBel
Cumming, Georgia, USA


Army

How adroitly Albrecht Dürer understood the plain nobility of grass. In Andrew Wyeth there is perfection, but also obfuscation for he wind-wove his pale yellow fields with a deep, pervasive loneliness. In George Inness, we walk his Edenic spillways of flowers, cattle and sunlight from a close but detached remove. And in John Twachtman’s lush brushwork, color approaches scent. But with Dürer there is simply grass without anything else to do but be mirrored marvelously by the Master’s exacting brush.

And Dürer showed us that purple robes were not the fabric of the world, rather it is the weave of lawns beneath their wearers’ floor to ceiling windows.

Grass-heads spill their seeds today in a tug of war with the April wind, Spartans surrendering their children to the armies of the fields that will cause and hasten the cracks in castle walls.

Lifted from the gloom
by a bloom of lilies
deserted farmhouse


Author’s Note: Dürer’s image "Tall Grass."

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