Well, I am not interested in the kind of expression that you have when you paint a painting with brush strokes. It's all right, but it's already done and I want to do something new.
quote by Donald Judd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
If I Were A Painting
If I were a painting
Captured on canvas
Alone in the portriat I would stand
And brush strokes bold
Yet soft as a whisper
The work of a feminine hand.
Caught in a still life
Surrounded by shadows
And lost in a background of blue
If I were a painting
My price would be pain
And the artist would have to be you.
I imagine the colors
Would all run together
If you ever allowed me to cry
So don't paint the tears
Just let me remember me
Without you in my eyes.
It's only the frame
That holds me together
Or else I would be falling apart
If I were a painting
I wouldn't feel
And you wouldnt be breaking my heart...
song performed by by Kenny Rogers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Paint body art beautiful
her majesty the hand
with nail graffiti polish
pain in henna red
paint in henna black
paint paint my heart
paint body art faithful
faithful to the strokes
paint in strokes divine
paint in strokes of red
paint in strokes of black
paint paint my heart
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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With the smell of turpentine
With the smell of turpentine
and paint in front of the fireplace
you paint magical lines
with blue, green and gold
and I look at you
while brush strokes
like magic make abstract images appear.
The Creator must have looked like this
while He looked at the world
while building it
and I see your golden eyes
looking carefully at the painting
and at times you frown
while you try to draw perfect lines
and light and colour
create magical feelings
and flow into each other
and you build shade and depth.
Gasping for breath lovely are you
while your fingers play with the brush
and there are more than curves and lines
from which your beauty comes.
poem by Gert Strydom
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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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The Pose
He looked at the painting,
his lover in the nude.
And as he stared
it always changed his mood.
Young and frail
but still a delight.
He looked at the painting
on every night.
He remembered the pose
as if yesterday,
provocative it was,
her eyes far away.
Were they remembering
the brush strokes used
or the feel of his hand
and how they fused
together as one
when the pose was over.
Now all that was left
was the painting,
not the lover.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Night workers..
Night is frozen and full of dust,
Nocturnal creatures are out on lust,
Trainee painters colored the earth,
Using the shades of grey at the brush,
A few take the paint in the bucket,
Splatter the darker grey on the forest,
They think to color the rivers of blue,
Adding the grey to the blue, make it dark,
How hard they paint the civilization black,
The lights of men make it bright,
Bored of painting on the roads,
back alleys are pained with what they have,
Forgotten the painting of the sea,
They throw their balance paint and brush into it,
Before they finish the job and get paid,
The cleaner of the earth arrives from the Vacuum,
Sucked in all the dust from the horizon,
The perfectly visible earth emerges,
After the thawing of its all nightly desires.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Why are flowers brightly coloured and perfumed?
On a Sunday at dusk
fireflies gather under a flamboyant tree
and I met him with that familiar smile
near the dim light pub!
He introduced himself as 'Charles de Gaulle.'
'I am Nimal.Priyasiri.Dunuhinga from another planet? '
He ordered Scotch on the rocks
for me a Mrtini Rosso Vermouth
with a thin lemon slice.
Both of us lit the French cigarette 'Gitanes'
and I pulled a long puff into my patchy lungs?
We discussed current politics and lot of things.
Why are floweres brightly coloured and perfumed
While the humanity fades and stinks?
'It's Master's choice! '
And he reads my mind it seems?
Time has come you to quit poetry
and start painting.
No restrictions on painting at all
of the brush strokes?
When in poetry you collect kind friends
As same as few worst enemies too?
Don't waist your precious time in vain Comrade
If you come to France I could have arranged you a Working Visa
At least you can paint the Eiffel Tower there in your Life time!
*Humbly I dedicate this scribble to www.FeedTheChildren.org
nimal dunuhinga
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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You Only Paint The Picture Once
(Teddy Gentry/Randy Owen/Ronnie Rogers/Greg Fowler)
Look at those evening shadows
Casting a peaceful light
The sun is disappearing
It's a beautiful sight
Moments caught forever
By the master's touch
A lasting reminder
To us
You only paint the picture once
(And) you only get one chance
Take the time to do your best
While the brush is in your hand
Make sure it's just right
Before the colors dry
You can't change it once it's done
You only paint the picture once
Love is the canvas
That's where it all starts
A lifetime together
Becomes a work of art
Just look what's been created
Between your heart and mine
Oh I believe that we're one of a kind
You only paint the picture once
(And) you only get one chance
Take the time to do your best
While the brush is in your hand
Make sure it's just right
Before the colors dry
You can't change it once it's done
You only paint the picture once
It's a portrait of life
You can't live it twice
You only paint the picture once
song performed by by Alabama
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Painting Words
IMAGES SPRING FROM NOWHERE,
BUT BEAR A KNOWN DESIGN.
NO BRUSH OR PAINT IS MY WARE
THOUGH PAINTINGS DO SEEM MINE.
MY CANVAS BREATHES ALIVE
AS WORD AND IMAGE MERGE.
FROM NOTHINGNESS I STRIVE
TO CAPTURE EACH NEW SURGE.
PEN SWATHES, LIKE BRUSH STROKES,
FASHION WORDS, ONE-BY-ONE,
UNTIL MIND’S EYE EVOKES
IMAGES CLEAR AS THE SUN.
ALL WHO VIEW THESE WORKS
WILL FIND IT’S NOT ABSURD
TO FEEL THE POWER THAT LURKS
BEHIND EACH PAINTED WORD.
poem by Gregory Huyette
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Inspiration
let the brush begin
let the strokes be gentle
but let all these be
definite with a sense of
a mission
a purpose
paint me oranges
like suns
green patches of
grass
like peace
paint me the blueness
of the seven seas
let these be not as dark
as the night
let there be openings
like doors and
windows
so i can breathe
let me live
like i was once so alive
let me go through all these gently
like the fluttering wings
of a sky blue butterfly
you are my flower
scented with morning lemon
let me
on such a short moment
bloom
and then
even for a day
just a day
wilt with you.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My sister-in-law is a painter, and I'll say, how long did it take you to paint that painting. She'll say, It took me maybe three days, but it took me all my life to get the skills to paint that painting.
quote by Anthony Doerr
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In my experience a painting is not made with colors and paint at all. I don't know what a painting is; who knows what sets off even the desire to paint?
quote by Philip Guston
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Am I a master
I am the master, master of art
have painted true pictures,
of rising sun, mountain, sea
through jungles flowing rivers,
shining stars, birds, cloudy sky,
can paint anything and everything.
insects, lions, bear and deer.
just like the living things.
I am the master, master of art,
can make my own paint and brush
Alas! but cannot create raw material
of any of paint, brush or canvas.
Oh! can not paint these seven
which are made only in heaven:
smell, touch, look, hear and taste,
emotions, thought and breathe.
No, I am not the master, master of art
can paint uncountable things yet not.
Not possible to paint love and laugh
I have to go again and again to learn
to the supreme master, who painted
the universe, stars, moon and sun
(C) S. D. Tiwari
poem by S.D. Tiwari
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Dedication
In youth I longed to paint
The loveliness I saw;
And yet by dire constraint
I had to study Law.
But now all that is past,
And I have no regret,
For I am free at last
Law to forget.
To beauty newly born
With brush and tube I play;
And though my daubs you scorn,
I'll learn to paint some day.
When I am eighty old,
Maybe I'll better them,
And you may yet behold
A gem.
Old Renoir used to paint,
Brush strapped to palsied hand;
His fervour of a saint
How I can understand.
My joy is my reward,
And though you gently smile,
Grant me to fumble, Lord,
A little while!
poem by Robert William Service
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He's Nobody
When you pass him a broken string guitar
And want him to play,
He tells; ' I love music but I cannot play.'
When you want him to sing,
He says; 'I love songs but I cannot sing.'
When you give him a brush and you want him to do a painting,
He mutters; 'I love painting but I cannot paint.'
I am certain on one thing a marvel,
Give him a piece of charcoal and see;
He draws a white Elephant on the blackboard.
* I submit this poem while watching the movie 'August Rush' in the T.V.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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You colour my life
You colour my life
with new thoughts, with music
with poems that your write
and paint brush strokes, like magical signs
right across my body
and now I miss you
while I remember all the beautiful things
and we are far apart
as if you are lost
and we now live in to different worlds
and still there is a special place
where I find you in my thoughts
and I wonder if you are missing me?
poem by Gert Strydom
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Art Will Show To Eternity Your Soul
I am a woman, using a mirror everyday,
Like all of you, i'm seeing my reflection into it,
Even i am sad, happy, tired or bored,
What i'm seeing in my mirror it's my physical reality, my own truth.
I combed my hair and looked into my mirror,
I felt so delicate, unique and simple,
Having a smile on my face today,
My mirror will smile me back as feedback in same way.
I am a painter, i adore art,
In everything i'm painting it's life,
In each painting and spot of paint my brush does,
It's a history of great ideas my minds holds.
A painting is a gate to our inner side,
Through it vibrates the universe to our hearts,
A mirror will always show your face reflection to the world,
But art will show to eternity your soul.
poem by Cristina Teodor
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The Red Strokes
Moonlight on canvas, midnight and wine
Two shadows starting to softly combine
The picture theyre painting
Is one of the heart
And to those who have seen it
Its a true work of art.
(chorus)
Oh, the red strokes
Passions uncaged
Thundering moments of tenderness rage
Oh, the red strokes
Tempered and strong (fearlessly drawn)
Burning the night like the dawn
Steam on the window, salt in a kiss
Two hearts have never pounded like this
Inspired by a vision
That they cant command
Erasing the borders
With each brush of a hand
*chorus*
Oh, the blues will be blue and the jealousies green
But when love picks its shade it demands to be seen
*chorus*
Oh, the red strokes
Passions uncaged
Thundering moments of tenderness rage
Oh, the red strokes
Tempered and strong (fearlessly drawn)
Burning the night like the dawn.
Steam on the window, salt in a kiss
Two hearts have never pounded like this.
song performed by by Garth Brooks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Enough Just To Know!
what is change?
a radical move to
the right or left?
a leaving of the past,
and all its baggage?
a fresh coat of paint?
a new lover?
the death of a friend?
seasons pass to seasons,
and then return...
changing, or evolving?
maybe an endless cycle!
where are we going?
do we know?
do we have to go?
will it be better or worse
when we arrive?
what are we looking for?
are we the picture,
or the paint not yet dry?
whose hand holds the brush?
and who is the painting for?
is it change we seek for?
or a return to something long forgotten?
must we create again and anew?
or is something there that we have lost?
does the wind know or care
where it came from,
and where it is going?
or is it enough just to know,
just to be, the wind?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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I am only interested in painting the actual person, in doing a painting of them, not in using them to some ulterior end of art. For me, to use someone doing something not native to them would be wrong.
quote by Lucian Freud
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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