I’ve always admired abstract artists who can go to their studios, grab a brush and a canvas, and leap in to painting. Whether it is laziness, creative terror or lack of imagination I usually need a jumping point. It can be as simple as a cloud formation, irritation with the current political situation, or a phrase that tickles my fancy. The poem Lot’s Wife by Anna Akhmatova had been tucked in the back of my mind for some time, when I pulled it out and jumped for this watercolor.
Lot’s Wife
And the just man trailed God’s shining agent, over a black mountain, in his giant track, while a restless voice kept harrying his woman: “It’s not too late, you can still look back at the red towers of your native Sodom, the square where once you sang, the spinning-shed, at the empty windows set in the tall house where sons and daughters blessed your marriage-bed.” A single glance: a sudden dart of pain stitching her eyes before she made a sound . . . Her body flaked into transparent salt, and her swift legs rooted to the ground. Who will grieve for this woman? Does she not seem too insignificant for our concern? Yet in my heart I never will deny her, who suffered death because she chose to turn.
From Poems of Akhmatova, by Anna Akhmatova and translated by Stanley Kunitz and Max Hayward. Published by Little, Brown & Co. © 1973 by Stanley Kunitz and Max Hayward. Granted by permission of Darhansoff & Verrill Literary Agency. All rights reserved.