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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Related quotes
Sonnet -Indelible Art?
How far an artist takes his art forward?
If labour hard is continued for long,
It dedication has not disappeared,
And Pride has not polluted his art’s song.
One's art improves if Will of God is there;
If Luck and Pluck come timely to his aid;
If vices poison not his mind to err;
And love enters his art when it is made.
For art lives longer than the artist's age;
And brings alive the beauty it derived;
All life, the artist must truly manage;
To perfect works of art in which he’d strived.
Such art alone will stand the test of time,
For it has made the Artist's life sublime.
poem by John Celes
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Value Fever Pitch: An Artist’s Time
Bhoman F Jamhari said
'I am an artist - This does not
mean I will work for free.
I have bills just like you.
Thank you for understanding.'
Polite and to the problematic point.
Anyone who thinks believes
an artist’s time is worthless,
is definitely a person an artist
should avoid; such individuals
cannot comprehend
or remotely understand
aesthetic value of art.
Art takes time to produce.
Vision and artistic skill takes
even longer to realize to attain
expanding horizons. Time costs.
Artists of differing genre value
appreciate each other and art
which suits their temperament.
To create art
is the life blood
of an artist.
The air we breathe
is the home of art.
Creativity is our fevered mind songs
we sing in a legacy of image visions.
What kind of a con artist wants
to steal bread from an artist’s mouth;
therefore limiting the quality quantity
of future works of art, to be produced
by that artist. Answer an enemy of art.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Autumn leaves
In full autumn splendour the trees display
proclaiming the glory of God each passing day.
For The Divine Artist every year paints each tree
so that each person on earth His glory can see.
And when He has finished painting each one
He brings out their colour with the blazing sun.
Then using the wind to dislodge each leaf
He forms a carpet on the ground beneath.
He has given us eyes so that we can see
His glory and majesty in every tree.
Our God like an artist uses His creation
To show us of the way to His salvation.
For as the leaf fell to the ground and died
So Christ gave His life when crucified.
His blood flowed red like autumn leaves
and cleanses all who His love receives.
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
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Though the artist must remain master of his craft, the surface, at times raised to the highest pitch of loveliness, should transmit to the beholder the sensation which possessed the artist.
quote by Alfred Sisley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I have a master plan as an artist. I've always said I'm not going to be punching nobody's clock. I will work as an artist to survive in this world.
quote by Erykah Badu
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Nude Artist
A Nude Artist
he says he is a nude artist
because he is naked when he paints
such nakedness has
nothing to do with being a nude artist
a naked artist who paints a cat or a chicken
is not a nude artist
there is no nude cat
thyere is no nude chicken
just paint a naked woman
and he will be called a nude artist
an artist is not an art
he must know that
- Frog Mantra, Accents Publishing,2012 -
poem by Suchoon Mo_
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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
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The artist must create a spark before he can make a fire and before art is born, the artist must be ready to be consumed by the fire of his own creation.
quote by Auguste Rodin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The artist must create a spark before he can make a fire and before art is born, the artist must be ready to be consumed by the fire of his own creation.
quote by Auguste Rodin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The First Artist and Author.
The first artist painted the sky with colors, such beauty,
Look at those sunsets, and the mountains, such reality;
The mountains, have shadows, of splendor that only the Master can do,
Yes! It's God who was the first Artist, and He also taught me too.
The first great artist painted the colors on the sea,
Blues, greens, aquas, Only one could do this you see;
And when there is a storm near, the sea goes so dark blue,
Yes! God is the first great artist, to paint it for me and you.
The first great Artist, loved to teach David to write poetry,
And also king Solomon, writing words of such beauty;
Oh such magnificent works, of color and in each word,
Yes! There is only one who could do this it is the Lord.
Then. We see in every rainbow, and in each shell as well,
Look at the colored sands, and in every bird, it does tell;
Then look at each animal, and also the petals of each flower too
Then as you look at these, , give Thanks for doing it for me and you.
poem by Margaret Haig
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A Great Master Poet Wrote
A great master poet told
how nature interceded
and interrupted a architect’s design
and made it’s own adjustments in time
but that the master designing artist’s eye,
his mind, comprehended
the difference and from it found
a brilliant answer to where
the problems were
and yet a man of the book
took it upon himself
to declare the designers work
as a copy of strokes
made by the hand of God
which lead to the ruination
of that master architect.
Now if we follow this argument
every poem, even every thought,
every painting
about nature’s splendour
or even the beauty of the human being
or whatever,
you could connect to God or His creation,
even when we sing words, paint pictures
and create art
it does not belong to the author
but to the Lord God and his church.
l’Envoi
If you take the artist away
from designs, verses, paintings, music
(from whatever art)
it will not be there
and it will not exist,
which leaves me to conclude
that some men of the holy book
do claim in the name of the divine
that which does not belong to them
or their church.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Sonnet: On Shakespeare
O Master Bard and supreme Dramatist!
A self-styled, literary genius, Thou art!
Globe’s unsurpassed, sole word-painting Artist!
Ev’r-living soul who canst never depart!
Mortal Thou wert, now immortal Thou art!
This world can never fill Thy earthly void;
Swan of Stratford-on-Avon’s mighty Heart!
With human destiny, Thou so well toy’d.
O grace-imbued Creator’s choicest Bard!
Revealed Thou hast Truth’s beauty supernal;
All human emotions are in Thy card;
In men’s hearts live shall Thine works eternal.
From Thy pen flowed the ink of magic words,
For ‘World’s a Stage’ and hearts of many herds!
poem by John Celes
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The main reason he wanted to be a recording artist was because it gives you much more freedom in your writing. You only have to please the artist and the artist is you so you can be more daring and experimental.
quote by Cynthia Weil
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You are born an artist or you are not. And you stay an artist, dear, even if your voice is less of a fireworks. The artist is always there.
quote by Maria Callas
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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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
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This Art Work
The love of a muse,
The pen of an artist,
This ink work will teach many yet unborn.
This art is from a realm to guide you,
This art work is like a mustard seed aroun you;
It is original!
It comes from a realm unknown;
It will inspire you.
This art is real to abstract your minds,
The innovative nature of my mind to you all;
It is the act of my dreams beyond imaginations!
This art will teach many,
It will inspire you all that love the muse.
This art work,
It is like a mustard seed;
It will grow to give you joy!
It is like the muse next door,
It will touch and influence you;
This art work ia sll that i have as an artist
This art work is never known,
It is called, 'Pen-Painting Graphics Abstracts'.
This art will teach many,
My innerself from the realm of imaginations!
This art will teach you;
But, the artist is never known.
This art is from a realm to guide you into my heart,
This art is from a realm to bring you into my world,
This is the love of a sweet muse to you all;
This art is from the pen of an artist who,
Is yet to be known.
This art is here to stay,
This art is all that i have for you all;
Cos', he who proves his skills proves his realms.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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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
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Being an artist doesn't mean that you're a good artist. That was the bargain I first made with myself: I'd say, I'm an artist, but I'm not really very good.
quote by Paul Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An artist never works under ideal conditions. If they existed, his work wouldn't exist, for the artist doesn't live in a vacuum. Some sort of pressure must exist. The artist exists because the world is not perfect. Art would be useless if the world were perfect, as man wouldn't look for harmony but would simply live in it. Art is born out of an ill-designed world. This is the issue in Andrey Rubliov.
quote by Andrei Tarkovsky
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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