Last updated:
June 1, 2020
Lori M. Cameron, editor
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At the Frame Shop – Elizabeth R. Curry

for St. Lucy of Chartres Cathedral

Gadroon borders, fillets, UV glass, racks of samples
at 90-degree angles—wood, aluminum, steel, slate,

a mysterious composition like the universe, paper matting
to distance the immediacy of framing:

So many ways to limit life, image and imagine it.

I have come here with a photograph of St. Lucy,
thirteenth-century woman with long, long body whose eyes,
pupils faded, stare in stone as they have done through histories

of lifetimes powdered into stardust. She steps forth hesitantly,
blind, mute, deaf—fist raised with fingers wrapped as though

ready for signage of the words Love of Light, she who is all grey
in the cathedral dusk, her ironic task as Saint of Vision palpable,

left hand grasping the stern folds of medieval dress, its cincture
marked off in measured sections for the sightless to count:

Sculpture touches glory for the blind.

Her image will be with me for a time. The Framer
and I choose a grey frame, grey and white matting,

non-glare (light-restricting) glass, black border for the Lady
with the plain and disproportionate face of a real person:

flat blades of cheeks, long upper lip, pursed mouth, dimpled,
middle-aged chin. But very finger-beautiful.

I shall look and look at her, and though too far away to feel the stone,
join all who have ever seen her for what she is:

Sculpture shows art’s touching glory.


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