Reflections on "A Visit"

I remember first seeing it
Hanging, framed in gold,
In the exhibition hall. I
could hear the capuchonne of colors
Calling to me above the myriad voices,
And I knew immediately
Where it would fit in our home;
The perfect spot, as if
Waiting just for this piece.
The price well above anything
I could afford to pay at the time,
Yet something in me could
Not afford to be without it.
I brought my wife by
To show it to her, first
From a distance, the whole picture,
And then close up, the intricate
Interwoven threads of color and
Stories hidden throughout the village,
Each story known to the villagers,
All their stories, their lives,
Drawing together to make a whole,
Flowing together like the sixty-one
Colors of the serigraph, each unique,
Each laid down separately,
Printed one after the other,
After the other,
Until the whole emerged:
A Visit. We had to wait
A month? Six weeks? The time
Pregnant with anticipation. And then
The artist himself,
Whose works already graced
The Vatican Museum, surprised us
By delivering the framed work
Himself, and hanging it
Right where I had envisioned.
It was indeed more
Than we *should* have spent
At the time, for
Something we did not *need*. But
Beauty that calls to the heart
Creates its own sense
Of need as undeniable and invaluable
As art itself.

— Zachary