There’s an art to playing to the gallery

This week, poet and artist Frieda Hughes opens her latest art exhibition… and it’s a hit!

The Chris Beetles Gallery

We arrive on a Sunday, my van tyres straining

Against the weight of paintings that I have wrapped

And packed and stacked and strapped for three days

Against the metal walls. We unload

And hang in the pattern

That I have paced in my head a hundred times,

Treading out my template

Of owls, sheep, hillsides and trees.

Beneath the hammer and nails in the magic hands

Of Edina and Martin my children

Look down on me from their tethers,

Populating the stillness of the gallery

Until the first guests arrive

With their greetings and hugs and sharing of bugs

As the red dots multiply like dart holes in labels,

Attaching the buyers to their new ownership

Of the landscapes and greenery that passed

Through the prism of those months in my studio.

And suddenly, the last seconds count themselves out

And it’s done until next time.