I continue to get further away from the usual painter's tools such as easel, palette, brushes, etc.
quote by Jackson Pollock
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Painter Man
Went to college, studied arts
To be an artist make a start
Studied hard, gettin my degree
But no one seemed to notice me
Painter man, painter man
Who wanna be a painter man
Painter man, painter man
Who wanna be a painter man
Tried cartoons and comic books
Dirty postcards could have done
Here was where the money laid
Classic art has had its day
Painter man, painter man
Who wanna be a painter man
Painter man, painter man
Who wanna be a painter man
Did adverts for t.v.
Household shops and brands of tea
Labels all around the cans
Who wanna be a painter man
Painter man, painter man
Who wanna be a painter man
Painter man, painter man
Who wanna be a painter man
La...la...la...la...la...la...
La...la...la...la...la...la...la...
Painter man, painter man
Who wanna be a painter man
song performed by by Boney M.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
A Flower To Auroville Mother-52
Flamingo flower(Tail flower, Painter's palette
Anthurium andraeanum)
You wonder with slender neck and heart
That of a flamy bird happily as winging
I'd yet say that of a painter's palette
Your heart holds cups of colours hueing
Unusual I see a splashing bright bract
Flower escorted amid flashy sorrounding
Unusual I see a blossom of deep thought
Timely blooming month more long lasting
poem by Indira Renganathan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Menno Krant's Cat
Mister Menno is playing
With a polydactyl cat
They both the rarest of breeds
Are do such without trying
Possessing unique dexterity
Demarking originality
God broke their elegant mold
There are no copies
She is at his easel impromptu
Chasing oily slippery cherry
Furtive follow for their forage
Flowing frantic feather frenzy
As his paint brushes
She brushes
Lunges violent
Leaping luscious
There is grace
Bewildering beauty
Prolific peculiar proclivities
Affinity between
Their very own and mutual
Pristine primeval sensibilities
They are purring perfect
Magnificent exquisite
Dancer-Painter symbiosity
They sweep stride brush bold beholding
Yet they are oblivious mutations enraptured
Supernatural organic process
Muted in their understandings less stated
Incomparable magnificent mutual organics
Original exclusive castings
copyright Randy Resh 2008
poem by Randy Resh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Instead of using brushes all the time, try a palette knife to paint.
quote by Frank Bruno
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Painter's Life
I do not envy painter's life
Of turpentine and palette knife
Forever waiting for the hand
That rests upon depression's stand
I do not envy gessoed sheets
Awaiting brushstrokes soon to meet
Yet when the work is almost done
Ripped up, unseen by anyone
I do not envy hopeless hours
Expecting inspiration's powers
To seize and lift a dull malaise
And turn a lifeless work ablaze
I do not envy people's awe
Appreciation's loud hurrah
When masterpieces are displayed
The costs the painter for them paid
There is a price for gifts bestowed
None yet has walked the royal road
For each must very dearly pay
To use them or he'll surely stray
I do not envy painter's life
Of turpentine and palette knife
Forever waiting for the hand
That rests upon depression's stand.
poem by Liilia Talts Morrison
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Dont Paint Myself Into Corners
(rebecca lynn howard/trey bruce)
It took a while for me to see things as they were
In the light of truth
It wasnt you,it was me
I let myself get used to drowning in the hurt
Against the wall
Whod of thought,it was me
From there I couldnt even look over my shoulder
I kicked down all the walls and started all over
And I dont paint myself into corners anymore
In a brittle heart of clay
I threw my brushes away
The tools of the trade that chained your memory to me
Are out the door
I dont paint myself into corners anymore
When you left you left me with no other choice at all
But to sink
To my knees,and cry
I never knew just how far a soul could fall
Like a rock
I couldnt stop,didnt try
I locked myself behind shades of misery
But when I let you go,i set myself free
And I dont paint myself into corners anymore
In a brittle heart of clay
I threw my brushes away
The tools of the trade that chained your memory to me
Are out the door
I dont paint myself into corners anymore
The tools of the trade that chained your memory to me
Are out the door
I dont paint myself into corners anymore
song performed by by Trisha Yearwood
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Painter (Ang Pintor)
The Painter...
He colored the sky
He colored the sea
and even the mountains
and the field.
The Painter...
He colored the roses
and even the birds
and animals
in the farm.
The Painter...
even my life...
He colored.
But the Painter,
I guess no one
have seen Him yet.
The Painter...
can anyone paint the colors
of His life?
poem by Marites C. Cayetano
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Elfin Artist
In a glade of an elfin forest
When Sussex was Eden-new,
I came on an elvish painter
And watched as his picture grew,
A harebell nodded beside him.
He dipt his brush in the dew.
And it might be the wild thyme round him
That shone in the dark strange ring;
But his brushes were bees' antennae,
His knife was a wasp's blue sting;
And his gorgeous exquisite palette
Was a butterfly's fan-shaped wing.
And he mingled its powdery colours,
And painted the lights that pass,
On a delicate cobweb canvas
That gleamed like a magic glass,
And bloomed like a banner of elf-land,
Between two stalks of grass;
Till it shone like an angel's feather
With sky-born opal and rose,
And gold from the foot of the rainbow,
And colours that no man knows;
And I laughed in the sweet May weather,
Because of the themes he chose.
For he painted the things that matter,
The tints that we all pass by,
Like the little blue wreaths of incense
That the wild thyme breathes to the sky;
Or the first white bud of the hawthorn,
And the light in a blackbird's eye;
And the shadows on soft white cloud-peaks
That carolling skylarks throw,--
Dark dots on the slumbering splendours
That under the wild wings flow,
Wee shadows like violets trembling
On the unseen breasts of snow;
With petals too lovely for colour
That shake to the rapturous wings,
And grow as the bird draws near them,
And die as he mounts and sings,--
Ah, only those exquisite brushes
Could paint these marvellous things.
poem by Alfred Noyes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
But in the old days, visual artists used to fall into two distinct categories: those of us who created images with cameras and those of us who applied stuff onto other stuff, with brushes or other tools.
quote by Buffy Sainte-Marie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Death-Statement
Death has no color at all yet
you the liar
the poet and painter
tried to make me convinced
much colorful journey to anchor
whenever the gossip begins
you cried with enthusiastic arrogance
to simply the eternity infinity
with its gorgeous act to guide the chariot
blunt bogus the orthodox maniac
never tried to catch the origin
by dying you own
words and brushes
many times illustrate
a deep romantic ambiance
as if
death is the destiny to grab
with heroic passion
liar you are
I don't believe you
the poet and painter
you only know the way to
tremendous self-suffering
to enjoy death every moment
actually you don't live
live your ideas...
Pranab k c
03/09/2012
poem by Pranab K. Chakraborty
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Creation
An aesthetic inspiration:
A grand, heavenly spectacle
Evolving on a blue canvas
That is slowly painting itself.
A single golden orb appears
Whose fiery tone dominates
The scene and brightens the background.
Next poses fluffy cumuli
That silently journey across
On their way to infinity.
Within the scene an eagle glides
High in the sky on warm thermos.
Below an artist with brushes
And a multicolored palette.
poem by Albert Ahearn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
People say I've had brushes with the law. That's not true. I've had brushes with overzealous prosecutors.
quote by Mark Duffy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Daddy, Come Home!
a young woman holding
two babies stands by
a soldier's grave...
while the would be politicians
keep pimping for the vote,
and Wall Street keeps on
doing business as usual.
with her foot she brushes
the leaves from the marker...
and the oldest child whispers,
daddy, come home!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Master Painter
The master painter unfolds his palette
Strokes generously with his brush,
The sky explodes with images of delight,
An inspiration, for the mind, and heart.
Turner would be envious of such a canvas.
But all too soon the inspiration fades
The light extinguishes and darkness comes
For just moments you painted with your mind
Flew with the eagles into the soaring beauty
Escaped the everyday for the world of imagination
poem by James Tipp
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
What that book does for me is give me the tools in the same way that I had the tools when I learned the regular scales or the alphabet. If you give me the tools, the syntax, and the grammar, it still doesn't tell me how to write Ulysses.
quote by David Baker
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
While Posing.
Mr Clementon says to sit
and wait and pose and you
sit as told and watch as he
prepares the easel and sorts
his brushes and paints and
all the while he sings in a soft
humming undertone his focus
on his task and not at all on you
and you watch and see how slim
his fingers are and not at all like
most men’s fingers are and his
hands are white and his face now
turned to you is shaved clean and
unblemished like a baby’s skin
and you think how soft it must
be to be close to him and sense
his flesh on yours and try and keep
your head still Molly he says firmly
bringing you down to earth and
drawing you from your thoughts
I need you to sit still and not move
unless I say and he begins and his
eyes move from you to the canvas
and back to you again and outside
the window the beginning of rain.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Shopkeeper’s Story
I sell one bristle brushes. People
seeking two bristle brushes I send
to the guy on Amsterdam, who’s in a rush.
I may have one customer a year
for my one bristle brushes, a one-eyed
lover of tanagers, she may have
one dollar to spend in the moment
light’s neither day’s or night’s,
but one’s where infinity begins. Whoever
she is, she’s always painting barbules,
I’m always thinking, no one will notice
that they notice this, that her tanagers
move, that everything’s alive. We talk
care and feeding of the one
bristle brush. Care exists. I thrive.
As Usual
The sun was shining…
The breeze was blowing
As usual
The day was dawning
The dusk was falling…
As usual
The people were brisking
The people were frisking
As usual
You died.
My heart was grieving.
It was Durga Puja.
They were celebrating
As usual
(Dedicated to Steve Jobs. I miss him…)
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
No doubt, man will continue to weigh and to measure, watch himself grow, and his Universe around him and with him, according to the ever growing powers of his tools.
quote by Albert Claude
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Portrait
PORTRAIT
A lurid looking impasto indeed
With grisly colors dappled all over
Like puddles of cuddled blood
Daubs of violent reds! Gloomy black patches!
Erotic blues and skinflint browns!
Resigned auspicious yellows,
Ashen virtuous whites and
Paled prosperous greens
He is often slipping his palette
Dripping the hues and tripping the easel
His lines running in zigzag jumble
Drawing He, with his quivering quill
The frazzled veteran Artist of unknown origin
“Your mighty hand must be aging! Oh my Master!
Muster your energies to depict on Earth
Your best ever portrait to reinvigorate
Your original beautiful oeuvre in whole for ever”
Sathya…….
poem by Sathya Narayana
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!