When you start with a portrait and search for a pure form, a clear volume, through successive eliminations, you arrive inevitably at the egg. Likewise, starting with the egg and following the same process in reverse, one finishes with the portrait.
quote by Pablo Picasso
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Portrait
As I gaze blink-less
At the bare beauty of your persona
Behind the thin satin coat
Your portrait steps out alive
Out of the golden frame.
Your portrait generates
A multitude of elemental emotions,
Some romantically elusive like fluttering butterflies,
Others tangible like love-making,
Yet some others audible like the dying cadence
Of a stringed music played on my lyre.
Am churned by the immaculate portrait
Like the ocean
And I deliver nectar and parijat
From the dark womb of my private secrecy.
I owe it to your portrait timeless,
As I take the yet-to-be christened
Eleventh incarnation of Indian pantheon
Embodying love and truth
With an assured confidence.
I do not paint a portrait to look like the subject, rather does the person grow to look like his portrait.
quote by Salvador Dali
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Every portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not of the sitter.
Oscar Wilde in The Picture of Dorian Gray (1890)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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The reason that I'm an actor, or an artist, is ultimately because I'm trying to paint a self-portrait, and the most complete and beautiful self-portrait that you can.
quote by Terrence Howard
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It is not likely that posterity will fall in love with us, but not impossible that it may respect or sympathize; so a man would rather leave behind him the portrait of his spirit than a portrait of his face.
quote by Robert Louis Stevenson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tomb of Lanis
The Lanis you loved, Markos, isn't here
in this tomb you come to weep by, lingering hours on end.
The Lanis you loved is closer to you
when you're in your room at home and you look at his portrait—
the portrait that still keeps something of what was valuable in him,
something of what it was you used to love.
Remember, Markos, that time you brought in
the famous Kyrenian painter from the Proconsul's palace?
What artistic subtlety he used trying to persuade you both,
the minute he saw your friend,
that he absolutely must do him as Hyacinth.
In that way his portrait would come to be better known.
But your Lanis didn't hire out his beauty like that:
reacting strongly, he told him to portray
neither Hyacinth nor anyone else,
but Lanis, son of Rametichos, an Alexandrian.
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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Few persons who have ever sat for a portrait can have felt anything but inferior while the process is going on.
quote by Anthony Powell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Portrait of a heart
Portrait of a heart
~
A portrait piece by piece
built through the heart
presents a romantic world
memories tell a moving tale
the full beauty of a loving heart
where the artist knows no end
and feels the strain of pride
still the picture takes its shape
to present a landscape of a life
touched by the words of love
scarred by the losses felt
the heart speaks and draws
from the uncharted depths
there in the eye of its picture
a romance reveals
a portrait of a world
built through the heart
poem by Matthew Holloway
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At the unveiling at the White House of the presidential portrait, President Bush pointed out that Hillary Clinton was the first sitting Senator in history to have her portrait hanging in the White House.
quote by Eleanor Clift
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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E.p.r.
I am sacrificing to facilitate a process to win your love,
But i am sorry if i have offended you on this muse;
For i am the cat out of the bag!
day by day nad night by night,
And of the spontaneous act of your love to satisfy my muse;
For i want to have your baby.
Dial 'E' for my emotions,
Dial 'P' for my passions,
And dial 'R' for my romance;
For i am the mystery in your thick forest of love,
And i will undress you and deliver you with my sweet love.
The moon will light up the darkness on this love,
And with an accommodative warmth to lead us on;
For i want to have your baby.
Every man's work is a portrait of himself,
And every woman's work is a portrait of herself;
But i want to have your baby.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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A Portrait of Aspiring Perfection
A portrait of aspiring perfection hath been painted
Through the creation of evolutions tidings.
A portrait of respiring reflections lay untainted.
Leaving my thought in meditation hiding.
They cry, the muses of my soul how they cry,
Forever sighing as I am forever wishing to be whole
And in so doing I am assuming myself to be but half.
poem by David Lacey
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The progression of roles you take strings together a portrait of an actor, but it's a completely random process.
quote by Meryl Streep
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Self-watch
Have not crossed the street
in many years
to greet you.
A slice of moon
leaves footprints in blood.
Maintaining the perfection
you start giving names to trees.
Paraplegia:
you start dismanteling the life
in search of romance with death
for immersing the dreams.
Take hold of my arms
I want to invent your portrait
in sands of nocturne.
Drink the milk of silence.
It is dark, but soothing.
Go to sleep.
poem by Satish Verma
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Toward Sky
my eyes always see
toward sky
always i have
in my mind
await for clouds
when black and thunder clouds
acquire entire sky
it is a vamp scene
when black coverlet
covered sun light
the same trend repeated
in my mind
when a dust storm
from desert of mind
blow with velocity
a puff rise from
my willing
and covers whole sky
of mind
my eyes starting on raining
a lukewarm water begin to fall
this water wash your obscure portrait
and i can see you properly
face to face
for some minutes
in this holy time
i exchange some dialect with you
through your portrait
when i want to meet with you
i rise my head toward sky
poem by Jatinder Singh Aulakh
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Nothing Natural About It At All
That portrait painted,
Hangs much too low,
The light from it appears to be shaded.
Where did the gleeming smiles,
And the brightness go?
Those sloping lush hills,
Seemed so green just yesterday.
Even when the clouds and rain came near...
None of it on this portrait showed.
The rays of the Sun,
Were then so clear.
Wasn't the Sunrise on the horizon,
Full of vivid promises free of duels?
And who came to smear a tinge of darkness upon it?
That had to have been just after noon.
The peaks of mountains,
Snowcapped and strong?
There is something about it,
That will not be prolonged.
The melting of snow,
Seems to have gone.
What 'is' this?
Something about it,
Has to be stopped.
I can see in its future,
This portrait is going to be forgotten.
Snatched off the wall.
And its presence remembered...
From memories dropped.
That can not be the same portrait!
Seen now to hang so pitifully.
Tilted, in a lopsidedness.
That brings not a hint of joy to me.
Is this someone's idea,
Of a joke to provoke?
My atmosphere...
Is not a place to invite tears?
The sweeping of the strokes...
Has abandoned its meaning.
To another scene in a secret elope.
That portrait painted,
Hangs much too low,
The light from it appears to be shaded.
Where did the smiles,
And the brightness go?
HELLO!
...hello...hello...hello...
Even the echos once heard from the valleys,
Aren't responding with a clarity.
Rich and reflective.
This is not an original.
This one is absolutely faked.
Who is trying to exhibit this image?
To pass it as something great?
Take it away from this place.
Get rid of it.
And tear down that wall.
It makes me sick.
It has become too common.
It blocks out all that's right.
There's nothing natural about it at all.
It conflicts with the ambiance.
And this ambiance...
Does not invite blight!
Get rid of it now!
More light is what I wish.
Take that piece of trash and burn it.
After its been dumped,
To cover the fumes...
In a dirt covered ditch!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Round & Round
I just can't help thinking
What you've done to me
You built a wall of love and tore it right down
In front of me
And you think you know what's going on
You keep telling me that i am wrong
I don't care about what you do
'cause if you mess with me i'll get rid of you
The picture you see is no portrait of me
It's too real to be shown to someone i don't know
And it's driving me wild
It makes me act like a child
You think i am crazy, but what can i do
You waste your time, like my money
It ain't so funny, but it's true
(don't waste my money, baby)
Now you can't tell me what's going on
And that i am weak while you are strong
What is it you need, that makes your heart bleed
Do you really know? 'cause it doesn't show
The picture you see is no portrait of me
It's too real to be shown to someone i don't know
And it's driving me wild
It makes me act like a child
The picture you see is no portrait of me
It's too real to be shown to someone i don't know
And it's driving me wild
It makes me act like a child
song performed by by New Order
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Her Portrait
Im painting another portrait. Look at her just look at her. Shes what you made. How do you justify it. Well let me be her angel of darkness. Let me take away all her pain and absorb it into me. I'm a sinner and saint. Im the equilibrium that holds every thing together. I watched many suffer. That when they are the strongest they are ever gonna be. I'm painting another portrait. Look at her just look at her. Shes everything you are not. Are you feeling jealous of what shes got. The ability to heal. The ability shield those under her. Let me be her angel of darkness. Let me take away all her pain and absorb it into me. Let me make her sane. Children are lost as love fades. Revenge leaves so many scars. Families torn apart for justification. Just make it okay. Just make it okay and make it go away. I'm painting another portrait. Just look at her. Just look at her. Such pretty eyes in which evil hides. Pictures of slaughter. It was her three year old daughter. Let me be her angel of darkness.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Round Round
I just cant help thinking
What youve done to me
You built a wall of love and tore it right down
In front of me
And you think you know whats going on
You keep telling me that I am wrong
I dont care about what you do
cause if you mess with me Ill get rid of you
The picture you see is no portrait of me
Its too real to be shown to someone I dont know
And its driving me wild
It makes me act like a child
You think I am crazy, but what can I do
You waste your time, like my money
It aint so funny, but its true
(dont waste my money, baby)
Now you cant tell me whats going on
And that I am weak while you are strong
What is it you need, that makes your heart bleed
Do you really know? cause it doesnt show
The picture you see is no portrait of me
Its too real to be shown to someone I dont know
And its driving me wild
It makes me act like a child
The picture you see is no portrait of me
Its too real to be shown to someone I dont know
And its driving me wild
It makes me act like a child
song performed by by New Order
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Moon is a Painter
He coveted her portrait.
He toiled as she grew gay.
She loved to see him labor
In that devoted way.
And in the end it pleased her,
But bowed him more with care.
Her rose-smile showed so plainly,
Her soul-smile was not there.
That night he groped without a lamp
To find a cloak, a book,
And on the vexing portrait
By moonrise chanced to look.
The color-scheme was out of key,
The maiden rose-smile faint,
But through the blessed darkness
She gleamed, his friendly saint.
The comrade, white, immortal,
His bride, and more than bride—
The citizen, the sage of mind,
For whom he lived and died.
poem by Vachel Lindsay
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Lifeguard Clinging to a Steeple
Why are all the survivors of the needle's eye
nude, as if their lifethread had disrobed
rather than sewn them. Sans coat-fare,
we proceed it seems only to precede;
birth to burial, are not yet here.
But when did we first start embracing
the wakes of ourselves in each other rather
than each other? As the fruit falls
to hiatus us, its bloom spoiled by last year's cores.
Or the sun whose portrait rots in our pores,
those sweatbeads blurred in closeup but clear afar--
that pointillist pap, that hybrid suicide.
The face carefully tattooed around love's wounds
does not itself look injured.
poem by Bill Knott
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