Insubstantial Man

from by Art Schop

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A trip to Padua as a young man kindled Alberto Giacometti's love of art. It became his obsession to show reality not as it could be measured but as it appeared, whittling away at his early works until they were no more than matchsticks. Giacometti’s tall, impossibly thin sculptures (Walking Man, Man Pointing, City Square) emerged as products of his nocturnal and contracted existence in Paris, as a mature artist. They seem to shrink from the eye, refracting the gaze, and emphasizing the space around and between people.
(Caroline was a Parisian prostitute who fascinated Giacometti and became his muse and his mistress. Giacometti was dedicated to his younger brother, Diego.)


I won't be happy 'til I'm gone, and all the shadows, one by one, have exited the crowded stage, and words have scattered from the page. They're here for me in bundled notes, in hard-boiled eggs and overcoats. And Caroline, my rugged whore, parts the waves, comes back for more.

In Padua, he found her, never more to leave her. He whittled and he watched her, in memory to hold her.

Diego brother, you'll be brave, and cast this headstone for my grave; "now, here lies Albert Giacomo; he had no other way to go." And but the time is never spent. The seeping, rising non-relent. I sink until I no more can; I am an insubstantial man.

In Padua, he found her, never more to leave her. He whittled and he watched her, in memory to hold her.

He watched the skin they put their fingers on, as if to press it to another form; so firmly set, so tiredly drawn.

Into the outward rush of light, free from the orchard's tangled blight. This mass dissolved, this fever spent, Diego love from you I'm rent.

Io sono incorporio. Io sono incorporio.


from Death Waits I: Music And Fine Arts, released November 13, 2015



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Art Schop Brooklyn, New York

Contemporary rock that's "a mixture of Murder Ballads, Songs from a Room, and Hunky Dory."

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