Carving artists go way back, built the Sphinx.
Phidias, Myron, and Praxiteles,
Enraptured Greeks, shaped their gods, made us blink,
Awed by their skills and their creative ease.
Then Angel came, his perfect David hung
With testicles, then Rodin, the moderns—
Their strange impressioned visions highly strung—
Then mobiles came to mock tradition, spurn
The stasis weighing sculpture down. Movement
Worked a bit, diverted our attention,
Inserted guile, surely an improvement.
Hands could not include that fourth dimension—
The greatest sculptor, clearly most sublime?
Life’s vicious animator—Passing Time!
(5/24/14)