An empty canvas is full.
quote by Robert Rauschenberg
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Empty Canvas
the canvas is juxtaposition
images colour movement time
time shifts in thought shifts
empty mind space canvas
is whatever artist declares
canvas is painted to be
empty canvas is whatever
canvas is painted to be
endless pigment possibilities
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Like that
Was it being empty of everything
or being full of everything,
when the song came during washing-up?
Was it being empty of everything
or being full of everything,
when the tourist outside the school door
glanced as if expecting nothing but the good?
Was it being empty of everything
or being full of everything,
when there was nowhere else but here?
Was it being empty of everything
or being full of everything
when there was no when or where
or why or what or how or who?
Who is to say? It was like that. Like that.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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The Canvas
Oh how she loves her canvas,
The stories that it tells.
Oh how she loves to paint her thoughts,
And etch a perfect spell.
Oh how she loves her canvas,
The memories that it holds.
Oh how she loves to trace the lines,
And tell if new or old.
Oh how she loves her canvas,
Her stability in an unstable world.
Oh how she loves to fret away,
At all of her unfurled.
Oh how she loves her canvas,
A standstill of art and truth.
Oh how she loves the feel of it,
To reminisce her youth.
Oh how she loves her canvas,
A long work of her life.
Oh how she loves the twisted colors,
Splashes of red upon white.
Oh how she loves her canvas,
She crafts each inch with care.
She hides her canvas well away,
Though she often earns a stare.
Do not tell of her canvas,
Keep the secret- she insists.
But perhaps some time take a second glance,
For her canvas is her wrist.
poem by Dayna Mortimore
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In the empty studio
The diffused northern sunlight
of this studio at dawn
matches the silence and the stillness
like the speaking silence
of the retrochoir behind the altar
of a simple white Greek island church –
that has no ornament; simply walls
painted in a pale blue wash,
the space, the air itself, as radiant with heaven;
behind the iconostasis – gold and candle and eternal gaze -
where praise is prepared; thought surrendered;
humility the robe; the sacred word awaits
the moment when it’s spoken;
so this studio; and at its centre, calling,
stands an easel with a white canvas on it;
what waits in this empty studio
that’s so full of emptiness that calls?
what challenges? This canvas
waits, as being ever does; full, content,
needing nothing but itself…
the silence will accept our spoken word,
then return to stillness;
the canvas will not be so forgiving;
‘make a mark on me that will not diminish
my completeness…; so let our being
meet, before a mark is made…’
this holy place: only godself may mark
this canvas and yet not detract; from space,
draw space; or may with colour stain transparent
this white white radiance of eternity:
and in the place whence all arises,
Nothing and Everything smile together
in their secret play.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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My Diary (Demo Recording)
I looked in my diary, no spaces today,
A life so eventful, stacked with appointments too important to break,
Lunch at the bistro, tea at the savoy cafe,
No time to contemplate the isolation,
No second can be wasted, no space to think because,
My diary is full but my life is empty.
Oh yes, my diary is full but my life is empty.
Its all so contemporary, the sheer pretension of it,
Its all so temporary, but all so shallow really,
Let me look, I might be able to squeeze you in between,
No, my diary is so full I couldnt possibly meet you today,
This evening is blocked out with potential investors in my lonely one-man play,
Perhaps next week maybe when there are fewer functions to attend,
So for now Ill pencil you in,
Between the visit to my doctor, my appointment at the bank,
This time its really crucial, thats why its written in red,
My diary is my life and my life is standing on my head,
Oh my diary is full but my life is empty,
Oh yes my diary is full but my life...
I look at your picture on my bedroom wall,
Im trying to forget you, thats why my diary is so full,
Chock-a-block with engagements but its only for show,
cause Im all dressed up with nowhere to go,
To stop my isolation, keep myself occupied,
My diary is my one salvation,
Names, dates, numbers, but inside I long to cancel all those entries,
My diary is full but my lifes empty,
My diary is full but my life is empty.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Diary
I looked in my diary, no spaces today,
A life so eventful, stacked with appointments too important to break,
Lunch at the bistro, tea at the savoy cafe,
No time to contemplate the isolation,
No second can be wasted, no space to think because,
My diary is full but my life is empty.
Oh yes, my diary is full but my life is empty.
Its all so contemporary, the sheer pretension of it,
Its all so temporary, but all so shallow really,
Let me look, I might be able to squeeze you in between,
No, my diary is so full I couldnt possibly meet you today,
This evening is blocked out with potential investors in my lonely one-man play,
Perhaps next week maybe when there are fewer functions to attend,
So for now Ill pencil you in,
Between the visit to my doctor, my appointment at the bank,
This time its really crucial, thats why its written in red,
My diary is my life and my life is standing on my head,
Oh my diary is full but my life is empty,
Oh yes my diary is full but my life...
I look at your picture on my bedroom wall,
Im trying to forget you, thats why my diary is so full,
Chock-a-block with engagements but its only for show,
cause Im all dressed up with nowhere to go,
To stop my isolation, keep myself occupied,
My diary is my one salvation,
Names, dates, numbers, but inside I long to cancel all those entries,
My diary is full but my lifes empty,
My diary is full but my life is empty.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Full Moon And Empty Arms
Full moon and empty arms
The moon is there for us to share
But where are you?
A night like this could weave a memory
And every kiss could start a dream for two
Full moon and empty arms
Tonight I'll use the magic moon to wish upon
And next full moon if my one wish comes true
My empty arms will be filled with you.
song performed by by Frank Sinatra from Voice
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Imagination's Field
Within its bounds, naked canvas stretched.
Before the display, the lad stood.
Adorning the wall, ornate frame hangs.
In concentration, young man observes the void.
Forced by curiosity's command.
for the source of his deliberation.
I searched sans satisfaction,
In despair, I queried the youth.
“Sir, within empty frame you survey,
what do you perceive? ”
Without addressing me, responded.
“I see tall mountains, endless restless seas.”
“I see naught, for this frame's canvas is empty.
How might you see these sights? ”
He turned, facing me and remarked.
“Sir, within the frame, a great deal I see”
Sans the luxury of explanation, pointed at the title plate.
Upon small brass plaque,
beneath the frame, inscribed.
“Imagination’s Field”
29Oct10
poem by Kurt Hearth
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An empty canvas is a living wonder... far lovelier than certain pictures.
quote by Wassily Kandinsky
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sunset Heighting Aire
Barley sixteen and half unseen,
Who in battle engaged and never gave up,
When a sunset heights the air,
Tree's swaying, standing bare,
Like in that there,
Place of feelings where-
A sunset heights the are
Half empty filling up the day,
Empty empty full of rays,
A sunset heights the air,
The menacing mighty wind where,
This there place of feelings was,
Half empty, half full.
poem by Rebecca Stansfield
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When I was in art college, I would be painting, and I would create something on a canvas that was actually quite attractive. But if I got frightened and tried to protect that, that canvas would die.
quote by Michael Ironside
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The canvas
The canvas
~
This blank canvas before me
Laid out in pristine white
Where only the illusion of lines
Break the unparalleled possibility
Dare I take my pen to it
To scare forever its page
To pen the impossible thought
In verse and breath captivated
That only the mention of a word
Touches the heart and soul of man
Painted into eternity
Upon the canvas stained
No longer innocent, pristine
But touched by the mind
Whose eyes looked upon
A world as they chose to see it
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Houses of Dreams
You took my empty dreams
And filled them every one
With tenderness and nobleness,
April and the sun.
The old empty dreams
Where my thoughts would throng
Are far too full of happiness
To even hold a song.
Oh, the empty dreams were dim
And the empty dreams were wide,
They were sweet and shadowy houses
Where my thoughts could hide.
But you took my dreams away
And you made them all come true --
My thoughts have no place now to play,
And nothing now to do.
poem by Sara Teasdale
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It's one of his radical paintings
They refused to take his painting for the Exhibition.
The reason they explained; ' It's a blank canvas.'
Then the painter argued; ' It's titled as Blank life.'
'At least there should be a brush mark then we can accept.' the director of the Art Gallery said.
With his ball point pen he kept a dot in the middle of the canvas
And added to the title as 'Full stop to the blank life.'
The director was really appreciated and taken the painting back.
* To my friend Denis.Joe who threw a torch into my little dark World and I saw this strange sign shines in the darkness.
'If the door is locked, someone is inside? '
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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I never know what I'm going to put on the canvas. The canvas paints itself. I'm just the middleman.
Thou it is empty it is full
empty hands clap so deeply, as a full hand can’t
never produce a single fun and while the mouth is full,
It can never say a simple call, got to be easy to tell
but hard to feel
come my hardliner of thought, digest of what
laughter shows, even in the greatest shot, the
whole grain squeeze to puff, what more than a simple
voice empty handed clings to pump
trail as always it goes in every full thought begins
and end for a cause, the dried land pose for a springs
for things gone will always come back again to dance
in a little pebble the sand runs
poem by Antonio Liao
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A Rosy Dream
This is for you,
Did pencils ever write
unwritten paper
empty blank
broken moment
unsaid poems and little words of fear
This morning of our affection
we spill our emotions
through the glass of wine
of ordinary hot words....
and walk through the shore of sand
sea shore is now empty....
a rosy garden
where roses fall silent
at the gaze of the moon,
where the night falls in a rosy faint, and snow
like a' ruby 'drops....
In the morning of our belief
in the faces of stars
like a kiss of words
we rely upon,
the streets remain empty
and our watches break again...
our skies sing
in a painful breeze
we miss our little song
Did paint ever portray
unspoilt canvas
empty hands
idle colours
rest
In the morning of singing song,
whistling
birds.....
poem by Thampi KEE
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The Insecurities Of Aging...
the more you age
the more you keep things to yourself
old and new socks are mixed up in one wooden cabinet
somehow you are not using any
it is just the keeping for keeping sake
you are not thinking of any heir of any shoe
you begin to emphasize the importance of empty containers
how each must be filled
an empty cup must have coffee to its brim
an empty room must have someone to talk to
and empty road shall have at least one car making a dusty path
the empty stairs are too fearful to look at
how you hate an empty chair
it can make you sick if no one sits in there in another hour
the hours can be empty too
how can you stop the arms of the clock from taking away the sound
of ticking?
you are sensing a terminal
the train must be full so that you can never experience the
palpitations of being alone
you can hear it like the sounds of korean drums
the cascading waterfalls
the horns of taxis in city traffic
do not dare to stop the inevitable
i assure you... you can't. So? get yourself attuned
have an empty cup and learn to drink from it
you must feign the satisfaction of thirst, because
it can't be long.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I have a simple philosophy: Fill what's empty. Empty what's full. Scratch where it itches.
quote by Alice Roosevelt Longworth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I have a simple philosophy. Fill what's empty. Empty what's full. And scratch where it itches.
quote by Alice Roosevelt Longworth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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