A Door

I have a lot of visual artists as friends on my Facebook page, partly because for a while I had a project going where I would use paintings as prompts for my poems, and the page still exists although I haven’t worked at it actively for quite a while. Partly also because I seriously admire people who can paint, or draw, or sculpt, because those are things I’m not good at. I also have an admiration which borders on reverence for musicians, for the same reason.
So, this morning I saw a painting of a door and the artist said this was the 3rd time she’d painted that door, several years apart. My first thought was ‘why?’ but she explained that, saying she ‘saw something different in it every time. It was an old door, to some kind of shed, on a farm, maybe. Peeling paint, some of the wood worn away from the bottom.
I wanted to leave some relevant comment, because I always do, and the best I could come up with was ‘a door is always a metaphor,’ which is true. Doors are portals into hidden spaces, doors get slammed in our faces, doors separate one reality from another, closed doors are what secret deeds get done behind, and then there are the doors of perception.
There are lots of things, like doors, that get used as metaphors for lots of different stuff. Windows, for example. Mirrors. Streams. Trains. Stars. Roads.

You name it, really, everything is a metaphor for something else.

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