The Puddler
Formal(ish) Analysis
The Puddler, 1890, Constantine Meunier (1831 – 1905)
Of course I was struck by you. I’m struck by all of you. You’re on a pedestal so that I look right at you. Right in the eyes. Normally I look at you from above. What would it be like to look at you from below? Someone cared enough to make a bronze bust of you. And now you’re in a fancy museum in Berlin. What was your name? You had a story. You had a mother. Now you have furrowed brows and a mouth agape. You are dark and shiny. You’re handsome for a down-on-luck fellow. Of all the fancy paintings by Max Beckman the others (the ones mom really likes) I chose you. Your place in the arched thresh hold to the following room of fancy paintings left me no choice but to make contact with you. Why were you so close to the start of a massive fancy exhibit? Are you like Kafka’s Ape, being elevated in social status while forever bearing the stigma of a lowly Puddler?
Anyway, I love you, Puddler. See you next time.
