What face do I see when
this painting I look on
hesitantly, bewildered –
an animal wild or
an artist cast out?

Darrell draws on the streets
scraps and leavings.
Thus, his mournful face hangs
reproachful, purchased a pittance
cash and a little talk
on an early morning Seattle street corner.

In parlays with darkness
he loses again and again
his daily life’s work –
faces in wide-eyed astonishment –
given cheap to survive.
They mean what I cannot know or say.

What, in this horned face blood shot
scapegoat, cast out, cries “Hey?”
In forlorn darkness, destined
for ignominious attempts
at survival in hostile places –
urban street corner
six-o’clock in the morning
I, in a rush, he
cries out, “Hey, hey!”

Thus came to me on a morning
a scapegoat in ceramic and oil
Darrell or an image his?
Since, my inquisitor hangs
silent, strange and afraid,
his gaze fierce, wild
encountered on the corner
crying out, seeing me
knowing my face.

“Hey, I think you’ll like this…”
as if I could understand
wild unremitting abandonment,
the work of his hands
what he faces daily,
his own life cast out
offered in a frenzy of loss,
anger and haunting delusions;
mad tales of aliens
specters of sinister doings.
I only have tame considered words;
spared I the wild visions,
the lonely street corners.

Portland, Oregon – June 15, 2016

“Images Like Picasso” was Darrell’s name for this painting. I received it from him on May 1, 2008. He did not tell me his interpretation of this work. The poem is my own interpretation.

I have not seen Darrell for several years now. The last time he was selling his works outside of the Seattle Public Market. He recognized me even through the crowd and gave me his, “Hey, Hey!” He asked if I would buy him lunch and I did. It was the least I could do and certainly not as much as I might have done.

Most of Darrell’s works were done on scraps of wood or chips of concrete he found. He also used broken ceramic cups and, in the case of “Images Like Picasso,” he used an abandoned piece of ceramic tile.