I went once more
to look at his art
and then I went back
out into the street.
I looked at his art
all the strokes and twists
shadings and shavings
carvings and chiselings
drips and splatters,
stylized lines and rough
amorphic ones, lines
and shapes bent open
twisted together
slapped, pinched, tweaked, tucked,
wedges of color, blades of color
fulcrums of color.

Lines flowed out of his hand
because they had flown
into his mind
in his everyday
vision, his wake up-
in-the-morning-next-
to-Marge vision and his
go-to-sleep-next-to-Marge
vision in the night,

his shape and swirl vision,
his vision of no color,
vision of color,
vision of angels and birds,
monsters and killing, life
wrenched to an emotional
extreme
because that's
where he lived

(he told me once
at a showing
Greg
an artist
stands
naked before his viewers)

in extremity
with the poor
the homeless
the suffering

and he knew
that was
all of us
whether we knew
or not

so I went on back out
into the street
(waved good-bye to Tom)

and there was that bird
Bill was always drawing
on that square rhomboid
of concrete by that
stick from a broken branch
his soul hung from

and there on the corner
was that homeless
woman with her
Bill Farmer eyes
that look at you
so intently they burn

and all the rest of the night
and all the rest of my life
everywhere
I go are
Bill Farmer shapes and faces

and now he who
despaired and searched
and created every
day he was alive
is dead but
he left the whole world to us
to make out of it what we can

We, the volunteers of the Bill Farmer Project, who have the pleasure and privilege of experiencing Bill's vision first hand, like to think that others are affected by him as much as we are. If you knew Bill, or if you are the owner of a Bill Farmer artwork your comments would greatly enrich the Project. If you are interested in a specific piece, please contact us as well. We welcome any reflections concerning Bill Farmer and his vision.