First, he puts on a space suit
Physical barrier to the vapors
Released when chemicals become beauty
A clean lab environment with danger
Of death if the oxygen tail that connects
To the tank should become disconnected
And his last memory is the sweet, sticky, sensual
Fumes of the resin seducing him to lose control
But he never loses control of the resin or fumes
No, like a microbiologist now plays with life
Inside the cells of the building blocks of life
He heats the resin cells
Changes their chemical composition
In a way Medieval Alchemists could only dream
Pours the warm concoction into Dixie cup
And begins the process of applying the sticky
Almost placenta-like liquid to the wood canvas
And it runs amuck, chaotic and violent, destroys order
In a mini-big bang until he takes the tools of his craft
Horsehair paint brushes, syringes, popsicle sticks
A blow torch of direct blue, orange flame
Anything nearby, really, in his surgeons’ hands
And begins to shape this form of life
The way he could never be with the patient’s
In his practice with all their human failings
And chaotic and destructive lifestyles
But here, Dr. Finzi is the Artist Finzi
And he works for hours shaping hot liquid resin
To form, easing layer to layer, color to color,
With one eye to the oxygen tank for clean air
And takes chaos to order and life
The chemicals to planets which
With time and the interaction of resin
Oxygen, wood, and his creative will,
Becomes a blue planet with life, human life
The life of Genesis and says:
“YES, there was the possibility of death here
But look, look carefully at this artwork,
There is also, given the will,
Beauty and resurrection and ascension
If you just disconnect from your electronic devices
And look afresh here, instead, is LIFE!”
