The crucial discovery was made that, in order to become painting, the universe seen by the artist had to become a private one created by himself.
quote by Andre Malraux
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Painting is self-discovery. Every good artist paints what he is.
quote by Jackson Pollock
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Yes Yes
when God created love he didn't help most
when God created dogs He didn't help dogs
when God created plants that was average
when God created hate we had a standard utility
when God created me He created me
when God created the monkey He was asleep
when He created the giraffe He was drunk
when He created narcotics He was high
and when He created suicide He was low
when He created you lying in bed
He knew what He was doing
He was drunk and He was high
and He created the mountians and the sea and fire at the same time
He made some mistakes
but when He created you lying in bed
He came all over His Blessed Universe.
Submitted by .eve.
poem by Charles Bukowski
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Artist
The Artist and his Luckless Wife
They lead a horrid haunted life,
Surrounded by the things he's made
That are not wanted by the trade.
The world is very fair to see;
The Artist will not let it be;
He fiddles with the works of God,
And makes them look uncommon odd.
The Artist is an awful man,
He does not do the things he can;
He does the things he cannot do,
And we attend the private view.
The Artist uses honest paint
To represent things as they ain't,
He then asks money for the time
It took to perpetrate the crime.
poem by Sir Walter Raleigh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In my youth I stressed freedom, and in my old age I stress order. I have made the great discovery that liberty is a product of order.
quote by Will Durant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Artists.....
the role of a true artist
is to put order to the messy state of things
chopped lines are interconnected again
colors are categorized to a harmonious blending
a room of scattered old and dirty clothes
bedsheets in disarray
pillows on the floor
paper scratches and pens and ink spilled
the artist picks them all up
and puts them properly back to the places
where they must be
for at the beginning there was an order of perfection
but then this universe bangs itself against a black space of a wall
and goes into an accelerated entropy
a scattering, a chaos pursuing upon another chaos
expanding litters of planets and stars
and God the Artist gathers them all into One
Harmony, the Silenced Storm, the Wellness and Wholeness
of These All
We are all these Artists, God's Children looking for Peace.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The story so far: In the beginning the Universe was created. This has made a lot of people very angry and has been widely regarded as a bad move.
Douglas Adams in The Restaurant at the End of the Universe
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lisbeth and the Artist
Lisbeth stands watching
The artist as he prepares
To sketch. Her elder sisters
Stand in shadows whispering.
Her younger sister plays
With her doll on the floor.
Their father said to do as
The artist instructed and
Don't misbehave or be rude.
The artist stares hard his
Dark eyes searching their
Every move and expression
And body gesture. The elder
Girls mutter in shadows
Their hands over their mouths
Their blue eyes like shallow
Pools. Ready? The artist
Asks putting charcoal to
Paper his fingers blackening.
Lisbeth says just as we are?
The artist nods. His grim
Features express do not disturb.
The youngest sister plays
Ignoring the artist her eyes set
On the game at hand. The girls
In shadow turn their profiles
Set to mystery their hands on
Their abdomens like guardians
Of virtue. Lisbeth wonders as
She watches the artist's stiff
Moustache and beard the slow
Movement of his mouth as he
Mouths words and stares hard.
The last artist employed some
Year before younger and less
Brutal in expression and manner
Had drawn them each in private
Rooms and set them down on couch
Or bed and kept their images inside
His head. He was dismissed and the
Drawings destroyed and nothing said.
Lisbeth had thought it just a game
Something done as lover might in
Private corners or lonely spots on
Quiet nights. The artist sketches.
His blackened fingers move and
Made their mark. Their images
Captured. The scene set. One sister
In the shadows yawns the other
Stares in still contempt. Lisbeth
Poses as young girls do. Nothing
To show of interest and nothing
Hid no secret self no other you.
That's it the artist says we'll begin
The painting another day maybe
Next week if all is well. The girls
In shadow look away and resume
Their secret games. Lisbeth studies
The artist's blackened fingers as
He rolls the charcoal sketch and
Puts away. He gazes at her standing
By herself a glimpse of smile and
Glimmer in her eyes like small fires.
He closes the tired lids of eyes
And smoulders down his old desires.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Private Eye
Ive got a private eye to see if youve a mother
Ive got a private eye to find out where you go
Ive got a private eye to see if youve a lover
Ive got a private eye to tell me what you know
You really should tread much more careful
Or youre going to get a stareful from my private eye
Ive got a private eye to search the seas and skies
Ive got a private eye to follow you around
Ive got a private eye to tear off your disguise
Ive got a private eye to make you look just like a clown
You really should...
Ive got a private eye to see if youve a mother...
It nearly stopped my heart from beating
When I found out you were meeting my private eye
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Private Eye
Ive got a private eye to see if youve a mother
Ive got a private eye to find out where you go
Ive got a private eye to see if youve a lover
Ive got a private eye to tell me what you know
You really should tread much more careful
Or youre going to get a stareful from my private eye
Ive got a private eye to search the seas and skies
Ive got a private eye to follow you around
Ive got a private eye to tear off your disguise
Ive got a private eye to make you look just like a clown
You really should...
Ive got a private eye to see if youve a mother...
It nearly stopped my heart from beating
When I found out you were meeting my private eye
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When people ask me if a god created the universe, I tell them that the question itself makes no sense. Time didn’t exist before the big bang, so there is no time for god to make the universe in. It’s like asking directions to the edge of the earth; The Earth is a sphere; it doesn’t have an edge; so looking for it is a futile exercise. We are each free to believe what we want, and it’s my view that the simplest explanation is there is no god. No one created our universe,and no one directs our fate. This leads me to a profound realization; There is probably no heaven, and no afterlife either. We have this one life to appreciate the grand design of the universe, and for that I am extremely grateful.
quote by Stephen Hawking
Submitted by Catalin Popescu
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Discovery Of The Self
Discovery of the self,
I've made.
A probing with a complete evaluation.
Blemishes and flaws,
Once wished would go away!
Now are displayed.
With a discovery of the self,
I've made.
Only to correct and refine,
The presentation in my mind!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sonnet: Art is Longer than Life
Much longer stays Art than an Artist’s life,
Whose earthly work is almost eternal!
His sculptures/ monuments though raised ’midst strife,
Can make any mortal, quite immortal.
The year’s consumed in the wake of an art,
His indomitable spirit and patience,
Can him enormous wealth on earth impart,
Or reward him with glory that is dense.
Each stone erected crumbles to powder;
Every painting can’t withstand time’s weather;
Inscriptions may be forgotten, brother;
But Art will live on and on much longer!
Oh, what hands made an Artist’s hands and brain!
He’s the Master Artist who brings the Rain.
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Mouse Is Killed Today
a mouse is killed today
by an artist
who got mad because
the mouse ate his painting
of the nude woman
that evening while he got so furious
the mouse was at his hole
on the floor eating his usual cheese
the artist mumbled and murmured
and grumbled
and the mouse heard it
and called it
slapstick poetry
a doggerel,
the artist was not able to hold his temper
anymore
got an armalite and shot the hole with the mouse in it
in the name of art
the artist invokes his right to kill the mouse
he says it was
' clearly an artistic expression
and protected by the First Amendment.'
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Private SNAFU: Spies
This is one of 26 Private SNAFU (Situation Normal, All Fouled Up) cartoons made by the US Army Signal Corps to educate and boost the morale the troops. Originally created by Theodore Geisel (Dr. Seuss) and Phil Eastman, most of the cartoons were produced by Warner Brothers Animation Studios.
from Private SNAFU: Spies (1943)
Submitted by Film Fan
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When is a Painting Finished?
I paint.
On my easel
pictures in oil and acrylic grow
like stalagmites in limestone caves.
I think that painting is a magical act
that transforms invisible thoughts
and feelings into visible colors
and forms.
But I never can tell
when is the work finished.
After all it is always possible
to change a line, a hue, or a color
or even the whole composition.
Painters have different opinions
about this.
Some say that when the artist
successfully planted
all the details onto the canvas
the image expresses itself
as a severed autonomous entity,
which frees the painter from
the task of continuing to paint.
From then on the painting gains
an independent inner life of its own.
However, abandoning a work of art
involves a moral decision
ripened by the stiffening tension
between skill, creativity and integrity.
At what point does the polished image
meet the artist’s expectations?
And then, even if it does,
no single image can express
all that an artist wants to show,
and consequently his muses
compel him to carry on with his work
and create more paintings.
Hence the oeuvre of the artist
evolves as a set of different images
of the same single thrust and grind.
Many years ago I was wandering
through the countryside
of southern France in Provence.
Once I stopped to look at the road
where the village met the meadow.
A sturdy artist stood there
in front of his easel
painting the landscape
with skilful brushstrokes
on a well-stretched canvas.
I stared for a while
at the burgeoning picture
and then asked him:
“How do you know
when is the composition complete? ”
He gave me a piercing glance.
“Well”, he said,
“if you take a hammer
and hit me on the head
I know that the painting is finished.”
poem by Paul Hartal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In The Beginning
In the beginning was the WORD,
And the WORD was with YAWEH ALMIGHTY;
The power of Yahweh created the Universe with,
The Light to shine upon the Universe;
'Let there be Light' and, there was Light.
Then HE created man out of the soil of the ground,
A living man who needed a suitable companion;
Out of man came woman as the companion.
Oh mankind! You were made from the soil and,
You will return to it one day;
Yahweh joined then together as Husband and Wife.
Creation has a very long way but,
Time after time we do go against the laid down rules.
The essence of Marriage is lost today and,
Where are the ethics of the Creator?
We cannot even see to our mistakes.
To err is human but, to know is better;
Where is the integrity of our marriages?
Where is the beauty of the Creator's rule?
We have lost the true meaning of marriage.
'Let there be Light'! But, our lights no longer shine.
HE created man out of the soil and,
Woman out of man;
But, we have used the man-made laws to change the rules.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I believe that the artist's involvement in the capitalist structure is disadvantageous to the artist and forces him to produce objects in order to live.
quote by Sol LeWitt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Perhaps the greatest challenge has been trying to keep my time to myself and my private life private in order to do my job. Everything that is most mine belongs to everyone now.
quote by Sandra Cisneros
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Unpainted Painting
Unpainted Painting.
I found a painting on the dump by the road, heads of many colours
seeking shelter, under a colourful umbrella, against coming storm.
It is an original painting signed and dated 2052, who threw it away?
A black fly walks across the computer screen, when I shush it away
it only indolently moves and settles on the edge of the virtual page.
I look for a newspaper to swat it the devious fly reads my thought,
take lift and disappear Into the painting. Now I can read the name:
FEMA. I got, it the date, the work is not yet made by an artist not yet
born; I’m seeing into a future and if the sad faces are anything to go
by, it doesn’t look too promising. Before the darkness swirled into
the village I put the picture back on the dump, as it wasn’t painted
yet and not for me to see. The black fly was buzzing around my head
whispering words in a in a future language I shall never comprehend
In the morning dustmen came and took away the trash.
poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Key West 2004
Year was 2004
went to Key West,
not a bore like before.
I posed next to a gold man,
with cool planet painting in hand.
Then posed with a parrot,
while owner holds a carrot.
Went to strip club up the stairs,
all the soldiers where there who stared.
Went to restaurant wearing a pink hat
next to an artist at bar is where I sat.
Artist painted me in my pink hat,
really quick and really fast.
Took photos with him and my friend,
still have painting, needs no stand.
Then went to beach to get a tan,
It was warm I layed on sand.
Then I ate at pancake place,
It was fun, I ate and ate.
Have to go back at later date,
I hear Fantasy Fest is great.
(August 30, 2011)
poem by Christina Sunrise
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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