There’s a wolf at your door
He wants your money, wants your soul
A wolf at your door
You give it all, he wants more
There’s a wolf at your door– Howlin Wolf
There is a quiet, weightless reverence to the scene. A lyrical transience, a gracefulness to the gentle contours of chair and guitar. The intimacy of the composition belies a delightful internal harmony.
The workmanship of the rocking chair conjures up lazy porchside reveries in the hills of Appalachia or the sleepy flyover towns of the American South. The diffuse shadows speak of trackless evening light intruding through a half open window. The rusted mint tone that frames the scene is very roadside diner, redemptive early morning coffee in hand.
I detect a placid tone to our objects du jour; there is a sense of reprieve from the day, a welcome rest, a sojourn into the golden hour where time stands still. A boundlessness, too: a spirit of playful candor underpinning the breezy tranquility.
The visual language is decidedly laconic and sparse, an aesthetic landscape of whispers. But enough with the pretentious drivel, no? Grab your worn out ukulele and pay heed to today’s aesthetic record: the inimitable Howlin Wolf!
