Seppo Tanninen
Basic information
b. 1948, Alavus
Residence: Seinäjoki
Contact information
Phone number: +358504631348
Email: sjtann@gmail.com
Artist’s Statement
A MORNING OVER THE ROOFS
A deserted gallery
in the afternoon's burning light,
row of empty glasses on a table,
a bunch of flowers and
muted paintings on strange walls.
Darkness falls into
a narrow street abyss just before
the streetlights start to shine
and the ragged shadows
cover the square.
A breeze enters
through high windows,
the smell of a city,
the sounds of cars and heels
as the gallery fills with
people and their voices.
Just a moment ago
there was a despaired silence,
nowhere to escape
but a single lamp over plaza
and the lonely tree under
its bow of yellow light.
The eternal hum
of Grand Via expands
deafening riot of shouts,
sirens, street music and the
never-ending noises of the traffic.
It reflects from walls
higher and higher and rushes
into a small attic room through
the wide open balcony door.
Ghost lights are flaming
on windows, a blood-red loom
of the extinguished sun paints
the sky like a crazy expressionist.
The night is conquered
by mythic aliens and when
the dawn comes the odd figures
are still riding furiously
over the roofs.
A deserted gallery
in the afternoon's burning light,
row of empty glasses on a table,
a bunch of flowers and
muted paintings on strange walls.
Darkness falls into
a narrow street abyss just before
the streetlights start to shine
and the ragged shadows
cover the square.
A breeze enters
through high windows,
the smell of a city,
the sounds of cars and heels
as the gallery fills with
people and their voices.
Just a moment ago
there was a despaired silence,
nowhere to escape
but a single lamp over plaza
and the lonely tree under
its bow of yellow light.
The eternal hum
of Grand Via expands
deafening riot of shouts,
sirens, street music and the
never-ending noises of the traffic.
It reflects from walls
higher and higher and rushes
into a small attic room through
the wide open balcony door.
Ghost lights are flaming
on windows, a blood-red loom
of the extinguished sun paints
the sky like a crazy expressionist.
The night is conquered
by mythic aliens and when
the dawn comes the odd figures
are still riding furiously
over the roofs.
