Promenade, Fokkina McDonnell (September 2026)

Promenade

1
The poodle to the right of the small group has the look of a benign, elder statesman.
The people want us to believe they’re moving forward in uncertain times.
 
2
Olga has seen all too clearly how they’re out of time: the boy with the grey cap,
clinging to his mother’s hip, his face like a boiled sweet.
 
3
The other woman, taupe dress, holds a creature, a marten. Notice the limp front legs.
 
4
Olga has been kind – their eyes, the tops of heads are hidden below the black
umbrella. The man is left-handed, a failed bureaucrat. The woman in blue may be in
disguise. We can’t know. If she is a woman, she’ll have taken on the role of governess.
 
5
We’re meant to think they’re out in nature, that they’re there to search
the shade for snakes. More likely, they’ve met the snakes and failed to kill them.
 
6
The young girl has her own umbrella. It’s not raining on her either.
 
7
It’s a relief to know it’s a canvas. The rumbling of cannons is somewhere else. This is
the ultimate illusion: hiding in a studio, standing stock still for a painting that’ll be
called Promenade.
 
  
 
Note: Olga N. Sacharova, Promenade, 1923. Borrows a line from Rebecca Cullen.