At the Morgan,* Renoir’s drawings
And some
paintings are displayed,
Including
varied studies
Leading up
to works he made.
There were
several lovely landscapes,
Which I’ve
never seen before.
I preferred
them to his portraits
And I wish
they’d offered more.
Yet to me,
what was amazing
Was a film
which had no sound,
Which portrayed
an older Renoir
Who, by
then, though still renowned,
Had severe
arthritis in his hands,
His fingers
gnarled and bent,
But with
brushes strapped onto his wrists,
He’d paint
to some extent.
In the
movie, which appeared home-made,
An easel
waited there
As he dabbed
it with his claw-hand,
Though this
work he didn’t share.
Still, he
glanced up at the camera,
Looking impish
and quite pleased,
Maybe
showing off his skills despite
The way his
bones had seized.
In 1919,
Renoir died
And yet we
get to see
Such a
master at his painting,
Which was
quite a thrill to me.
*The Morgan
Library and Museum, New York City
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