Leonard Koscianski (American, born Cleveland, Ohio 1952)
Wild Dogs, 1982. Oil on canvas
72 x 48 in. (182.9 x 121.9 cm)
Gift of Karl Bornstein, 1984
Digital image courtesy: www.metmuseum.org
Wild
Some say the wolf you feed wins. But what about the wild dogs? Both white. Both untamed. Fanged. Claws bared. On a moonlit night when clouds travel the blue-black bruise of sky, sometimes covering full-white-sphere light, dewy grasses glisten, glow illuminates paths, can illuminate a whole desert. Light outside and within. Wild dogs respond to the night, to the light, to threats and adversaries. Survival means stalking, chasing, hunting down, throwing body, mind, and spirit into the fray. Doesn’t it? The dogs feed themselves as needed. The dogs know when to feed, when to fast. The dogs we are, somewhere still inside but hidden deep by disconnection, know we are predators in the animal chain, know our hunting consumption might weigh in the balance of ecosystems or send them spinning toward destruction. Which wild dog begs to be heard most? Which wild dog most wants to win? When night turns toward morning, sunlight readies to supplant the light of the moon. Two orbs. Two lights. Two dogs, each hard upon the heels of the other. One always grabbing the other one by the tail. One always threatening to alpha-out or all-out extinguish. Say the wild dog you feed most wins. But take care not to confuse them, if they wear the same disguise.
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