Instead of using brushes all the time, try a palette knife to paint.
quote by Frank Bruno
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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
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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
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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
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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
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Knife Party
My knife - its sharp and chrome
Come see inside my bones
All of the fiends are on the block
Im the new king, Ill take the queen
cause in here were all anemic
In here - anemic and sweet...so...
Go get your knife, go get your knife
And come in
Go get your knife, go get your knife
And lay down
Go get your knife, go get your knife
Now kiss me
Oooh...well I can float here forever
In this room we cant touch the floor
In here were all anemic
In here - anemic and sweet...so...
Go get your knife, go get your knife
And come in
Go get your knife, go get your knife
And lay down
Go get your knife, go get your knife
Now kiss me
Ohh... I could float here forever
Ohh... anemic and sweet
Ohh... I could float here forever
Ohh... anemic and sweet...so...
Go get your knife, go get your knife
And come in
Go get your knife, go get your knife
And lay down
Go get your knife, go get your knife
Get filthy
Go get your knife, go get your knife
And kiss me...
song performed by by Deftones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poem For Caravaggio - Contemplating 'The Conversion of St. Paul' At 4 a.m.
to George Elder
In the shorter light, the extended
night of cold and star-bright questions,
may you cast clumsy net forward into
what it all might mean to fretted you,
to me, stretched canvas, though I will
not thrust these words upon your paint
or palette but make offering for your
own work to feed us through the eyes;
perhaps time to remount the horse
and soldier on, or to fall again, gain
Damascus perspective, from one's
back watch vision distort massive
horse into a God receding into necessary
darkness foregoing image,
see what may form in the spreading dirt,
what resurrection there is in the smell of paint.
poem by Warren Falcon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The business of peace requires more than showing up with paint brushes, foodstuffs and an oil pipeline or two.
Paint Me Down
Paint me down
Paint me down
Paint me down
Im walking into studio
Consider strange appeal
Paint me in the home
Im brushing up on sketchbook
Designs for love unreal
Paint me in the home
Oil and skin youll need to buy it
Consider what I mean
She sinks beneath thr moving pictures
Prepare the brush for me
Im craving with this need
Paint me down
Paint me down
Paint me down
Im soaking up the surface
Conceaiving new idea
Paint me in the home
Shes oiling up her subject
But all still life is here
Paint me in the home
All the boys with framed dimension
A cover up on lust
Hell take his pain and paint it over
Prepare the brush for me
Im craving with this need
Paint me down
Paint me down
Paint me down
song performed by by Spandau Ballet
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Paint Heroes
All of paris giggles with flags
Laughing lions leap up from the page
My the world looks good from where you are
My the world looks good from where you paint from
Barcelona, nuclear festive, wire women
Wriggle from lifes cage
My the world looks good from where you are
My the world looks good from where you paint from
My the world looks good from where you are
My the world looks like its all a party
Packed with my paint heroes
Like its all a party
Packed with rousseau
Miro, miro, on my wall
I love you the most of all
In port lligat, liked his gala
Waxed antenna, brushes up a storm
My the world looks good from where you are
My the world looks good from where you paint from
Catalonias atom caveman
Cracks his whipline tipped in purest form
My the world looks good from where you are
My the world looks good from where you paint from
My the world looks good from where you are
My the world looks like its all a party
Packed with my paint heroes
Like its all a party
Packed with dali
Miro, miro, on my wall
I love you the most of all
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Paint Heroes (home Demo)
All of Paris giggles with flags
Laughing lions leap up from the page
My the world looks good from where you are
My the world looks good from where you paint from
Barcelona, nuclear festive, wire women
Wriggle from life's cage
My the world looks good from where you are
My the world looks good from where you paint from
My the world looks good from where you are
My the world looks like it's all a party
Packed with my paint heroes
Like it's all a party
Packed with Rousseau
Miro, Miro, on my wall
I love you the most of all
In Port Lligat, liked his Gala
Waxed antenna, brushes up a storm
My the world looks good from where you are
My the world looks good from where you paint from
Catalonia's atom caveman
Cracks his whipline tipped in purest form
My the world looks good from where you are
My the world looks good from where you paint from
My the world looks good from where you are
My the world looks like it's all a party
Packed with my paint heroes
Like it's all a party
Packed with Dali
Miro, Miro, on my wall
I love you the most of all
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Colors on my palette
Tiny dishes on my palette
filled with a rainbow of colors
that I meticulously mixed;
arranged like a row of flowers
that I'll use to paint her portrait.
Cadmium yellow for her hair;
white and yellow ochre create
her flesh tone; perhaps if I dare
a dab of cadmium red.
Cadmium deep red for her lips;
perhaps a lighter shade instead.
Cerulean blue for her eyes;
and like a statue she will pose
while my paint laden bristles flow.
poem by Albert Ahearn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Paint and Brushes
When I'm sad, my depression sinking in
paint and brushes become my best friend
dots and strokes, black is my color
pouring out my soul
poem by Dagmar Wilson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hatin' On Someone
I'm starring at your car right now
I'm Thinking about all the things
I could do to it
I could
Egg your car
Scratch up the paint
Slash your tires
Spray paint your windows
I got to be honest it's tempting
Cause you really hurt me
It shouldn't matter what you do or say
But guess what it does
I usually would of let this go
But you really hurt me bad
And I'm sick of being so hurt
So Now I'm staring at your car
With a dozen eggs to throw at it
I have keys to scratch it up
I have a knife to slash your tires
And spray paint for your windows
Now you will have fun cleaning that up
So maybe next time you'll think twice
Before you hurt someone like me
Or maybe I just declared war
But either way it made me feel better
It's just to bad your car
Had to take the beating for you
Cheney
The Paint-King, envious of his cunning art,
To him the tinted palette would not lend;
So has he dipped the pencil in his heart,
And with his light and shade its hues still blend.
poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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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
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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
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I don't have to lay on the couch and see a therapist because my therapist is in my paint brushes.
quote by Abbey Lincoln
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Paint my eyes in flowers
paint my hands in dragons
paint my back in windings
paint my arms in lightening
paint my neck in anks
my forehead intricate lines
paint my shoulder butterflies
paint my heart in henna
in henna of red in henna of black
body paint my heart
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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.
Compact Dusk
Here at the height of the day night change
The color of the sky is uncertain,
The sky depending in which direction
One's eye strains, each of its swatches a strange
Hue which dies too soon and which makes this hour
Linger in the mind transient as a life,
Whose names once known remain another
Posied-up portrait on our palette knife.
Until even I wonder if one tint
Ever survives the harm of seeming unique
(Evening's intrigue, time's singularity.)
Study for its trace, its placemap, I see
— Redundant as a stopsign in italic—
The face on which my profile leaves no print.
poem by Bill Knott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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