I think that one of Tim's great qualities and abilities is in what seems like a thumbnail sketch to get something quite telling, very simply, when you're doing it or being in that thumbnail sketch, you don't feel that it's important.
quote by Albert Finney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ladder Rung One
Ladder Rung One
Ladder Rung One
Tom Thumb and Thumbelina and baby thumbnail
Tom is starting now to speak:
“listen to me Thumbelina baby {thumbnail} ewe listen tewe
This old world has got me hypnotized and they stuck me on the bottom rung”
Thumbelina answers him:
“Tom my husband please do not speak so rough in front of the thumbnail baby she does not need to knoe about the way of the world she is just a baby not yet in collage…
Baby thumbnail is speaking baby talk in gibberish:
“The world is mye oyster and eye am gonna shuck it
Gonna learn to drive and gonna learn to party.
Narrator me:
Listen to me baby the old man still loves ewe the father of the daughter and the mother she adores ewe and the author of the poem. The ladder it is steep and hard to climb them all the steps are hard please stay upon the bottom rung.
poem by Charles Hice
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Always Be One To Me
Sketch a flame on a candle.
Have it up-side-down.
What do you see?
It's like a water dropp out of a cup!
Like the sketch,
I find you known to me always.
You asked what is the secret of a really good sketch. And it is a sketch is a small play. It's got a beginning, and a middle and an end. It should have a plot; it should have the characters, conflict. It is a little play. And in it, will be funny stuff.
quote by Harvey Korman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The first piece of art that I ever bought-when I could afford it-was a Warhol sketch from the period when he was just getting out of doing commercial work and more into art. It's a sketch of a young guy's face. I guess the gallery that I bought it from thought I would like it because the young guy kind of looked like James Dean.
quote by James Franco
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Commit wrong
To sketch is not to commit wrong
To write is not to commit wrong.
Birth right of the artist
Is to sketch freely
Birth right of the poet
Is to compose poem freely.
Freedom of speech and expression
Is for a freelancer
Nobody is there to challenge
In this free world of all.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Sketch Book
If I may,
allow thee,
stand
lay
find
your
pose.
Will sketch thee in thy book.
Charcoal
grainy
dark
smudges blending,
image
take
form.
Disrobe
do not,
remove thy cloth
woven
cotton
cover
disguise
thy body shape
curves
contours
angles.
Distraction.
Already have sketch in hand,
conjured forth,
time
and
time
again.
Thy body shape,
lies beneath,
across they clothing drape?
Still life.
Artists interpretation.
Thy beauty.
Recline,
arm at side
other over head
finger poised
chin angled toward thee
eyes at slight glance,
legs
lounging
relaxed
ankles crossed.
Nude.
Exposed.
Yes,
of course.
Anywhere you would like,
when
your
ready.
Will sketch thee in thy book.
poem by Gary Kedron
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Spring
Weak lemonade sky
Of the anaemic January sun,
Don't cry!
The thumbnail moon
Says all things die
And winter will be over soon,
The Spring has just begun.
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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People will love something very much or hate something very much. But the great thing about a sketch show is that if something comes along that you don't like, something else will come along in a minute that hopefully you might like that.
quote by Matt Lucas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In the National Gallery
Here, in the pale light of a winter’s day
I entered with a sketch pad in my hand.
I never dreamed that I’d encounter you-
To sketch out some old master was my plan.
Was it your eyes that first seduced me near,
or those cherry lips that I would never taste?
Two centuries past you were a beauty, dear.
Now, all but this image, time has lain to waste.
I envy him who painted you in camera,
together in your sitting room alone.
Who knows just how the session was concluded
If your old and senile husband wasn’t home?
I’m cast here in the role of a voyeur,
I haven’t even tried to draw a line.
Your dress of silk reveals just one bare shoulder,
Your eyes, the promise of a night divine.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Desertedness
Unrecognizable are the days,
Neither does the sunrise,
Cast any spell,
Nor does the yonder descending star,
Sketch any image.
From the sky-kissing,
Rocky peaks of mountains,
To the soft soil of the earth,
Reigns, governs some icy-season,
The wing-folded birds are sitting,
Unprotected, exposed in the boughs.
And I in the patio of my home,
Though much indulged, yet sit
Deserted, desolate in mood.
Unrecognizable are the days,
Neither does the sunrise,
Cast any spell,
Nor does the yonder descending star,
Sketch any image.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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A pencil sketch of Mozart
It’s a snapshot, except
before the age of the camera
yet more of a decisive moment
than any posed painting;
as any photographer,
lighting director, would see,
he’s next to you, could be
round about the fifth row back
of the stalls;
looking so straight ahead
that it doesn’t seem to be
the stage box; and it must surely be
a grand theatre, the lighting’s strong
on his white neck-stock,
his powdered hair, even catching
the lower white of his focussed eye;
he all there, he’s all here, and
attentive as a critic; the opera,
as it surely is, is playing and engages
all his faculties; and yet
there’s an appreciation
holding his lips far from the
childish joke, the poverty, the family deaths,
or even from the unimaginable creation
of music that speaks of something
deep in human hearts, speaks
of something beyond the human heart.
He’s listening to the music
as if he’d never heard it before yet
you can see it’s all inside him, too -
whatever ‘inside’ means
to genius;
it’s Mozart, there beside you
as you sketch him; as the
music you’re not watching
as you watch him and your pencil -
the music is telling you
what life’s about; and more.
Back to the sketch, with all the care you muster -
this will be the record for a thousand years
of watching Mozart listening
to the music of his self.
*
(revised)
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Dinner With Gershwin
I want to have dinner with Gershwin
I want to watch Rembrandt sketch
I want to talk theory with Curie
I'mpossible I guess
I want to talk moods with Picasso
On a rendezvous
I want to fly double with Earhart
I want to get next to you
Next to you
So close
Just as close as I can get
The rain of your worry
Can't effect
What I feel is what I feel
One touch
Of your greatness
Is what I need
My circle of fantasy
Would be complete
I want to sing hymns with Mahalia
When the day is through
I want to tell you about it
I want to get next to you
Next to you
So close
Just as close as I can get
The rain of your worry
Can't effect
What I feel is what I feel
One touch
Of your greatness
Is what I need
My circle of fantasy
Would be complete
So close
Just as close as I can get
The rain of your worries
Can't effect
What I feel is what I feel
One touch
Of your greatness
Is what I need
My circle of fantasy
Would be complete
I want to have dinner with Gershwin
I want to watch Rembrandt sketch
I want to talk theory with Curie
I'mpossible I guess...
song performed by by Donna Summer from All Systems Go
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ashberry
what makes a promising poet
is the one who comes to you
telling you that he wants to write a novel
in some other exciting ways
or simply one who lightly quips
that he likes to play with words
like some tumble weeds
and bedbugs tugging a bundle
of fecal matter
i suppose one that lacks the seriousness
to write the most important matter of life
and he was clear in saying that the one
who comes to him telling him that he wants to be a poet
because he has important stories to confess
ideas to express
does not really become a poet
and i am really, one of them
because i do not really want to be one of them
there is simply no use
at the age of ten, i already wrote my first line:
please leave your slippers before entering the door
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Bull For Me
I think, Sirs, and most inimitable Ladies
I think I prefer to look at a bull
The sketch of a bull, the head of a bull perhaps
even if but a study by an artist
rather than some fancy prophet in glorious paint
or in grand chapel or some miracle recounted
in paint and colors and with consummate skill
or even God descending
ah, all these do not take my fancy
they smack too much of the Elevated;
there’s too much
of the grandstanding in these
Grand Divine Themes
but the face of a bull, ah give me a sketch
of the face of a bull
just the bull, all marks of nature in it
and just itself
no symbolism, no conceit, no artifice
no High sounding theology, no Revelation
but just animal nature in its nudity
being a bull
just animal, its eyes and mouth and horns
just all coming together to form one creature
a portrait of a bull anytime for me
Sirs and most inimitable Ladies
none of the Holy Ones and the Great Prophets
and the Mighty and the Divine
and the Grand-Looking:
no bull for me, please;
just the plain head of a bull, as it is
poem by Raj Arumugam
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Camera pencil combination
Camera and pencil's combination
fetch reality, feel and imagination
The sketches drawn by pencil
speak and make you feel -
Not only liveliness of the object
but compels one too, to interpret.
The added message through sketch
is like you educate an illiterate.
poem by S.D. Tiwari
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Παντα ρει· ουδεν μενει
Upon the water, in the boat,
I sit and sketch as down I float:
The stream is wide, the view is fair,
I sketch it looking backward there.
The stream is strong, and as I sit
And view the picture that we quit,
It flows and flows, and bears the boat,
And I sit sketching as we float.
Each pointed height, each wavy line,
To new and other forms combine;
Proportions vary, colours fade,
And all the landscape is remade.
Depicted neither far nor near,
And larger there and smaller here,
And varying down from old to new,
E’en I can hardly think it true.
Yet still I look, and still I sit,
Adjusting, shaping, altering it;
And still the current bears the boat
And me, still sketching as I float.
Still as I sit, with something new
The foreground intercepts my view;
Even the distant mountain range
From the first moment suffers change.
poem by Arthur Hugh Clough
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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I come in. I'm going to sketch, I'm going to drape, I don't know what I'm going to do.
quote by Geoffrey Beene
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I never travel without my sketch book.
quote by Ian Wright
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I would just sketch everything that was being made for the collections.
quote by Stephen Sprouse
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Technology - a thumbnail tribute to Martin Heidegger
Tekne’, to the Greeks
was the art of bringing-forth
from the true (and, it’s hoped, the good)
into the beautiful:
poetry; sculpture; machinery of wood and metal
such as that which raised the Parthenon;
raised Apollo, Venus, out of stone;
raised myth out of poetry.
And I, we, too have technology
forever at our finger-tips..
Did it happen through chance,
through procrastination,
or through attention given
to a task and needs,
this ‘beautiful’ solution
that mathematicians talk about?
it happened on one godgiven day,
scrubbing those shining new potatoes:
the right-hand thumbnail now grown long
suddenly a more efficient tool
for removing ‘eyes’ and hollowed dirt..
so now, this intimate and valued tool
carefully shaped between a v and u;
and from the fingertip to heart
arises wonder, awe: the gentle curve
of nail gives added strength.. how magnificent
the humblest, least worshipped fingerends
of these so precious hands…
Do I mimic man called ‘primitive’
as I depend on nature’s tools
to alert the inventive mind
by the attention which, taken so for granted
links us to the gods themselves…?
Tools first, then machines, then ‘technology’
have no limits under divine law:
call them, the exteriorisation
of our brain, our mind:
thumbnail, bridge, interstellar rocket
are thus one in wonder; every action
now to mind and heart, a sacrament;
the bringing-forth, the showing-forth
of Man – the tekne of the gods;
the gods who live, who wake from sleep,
only when Man rounds the circle with his praise.
“Questioning is the piety of thought.”
poem by Michael Shepherd
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