At the Whitney

The eye is not satisfied with seeing,

It's greedy, it wants to appropriate,

The foot is not satisfied with being,

It's restless, movement is its opiate.


Jennifer Packer draws well-defined eyes,

And specializes in columnar feet,

Faces that out of wat'ry gray arise,

Vagueness turned to clarity, luke to heat.


An issue with all-encompassing art,

Like the old-time sonnets that I'm writing,

Ev'rything's filled in, there's no missing part,

I find Ms. Packer's spaces inviting.


Art makes me a less unhappy fella,

I'll buy Becky a Calder umbrella.


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