Quotes about artist's, page 2
Creative Perceptions
Artist appropriate palette prepares
as poet intuitive channels and shares -
perceptions highlighted in paint or in rhyme,
on screen, paper, canvas, [b]rushed, touched outside Time.
Each reaches out writing, foresighting, prepares
stalls [f]rigid for music of spirit sublime.
But few can interpret the talent they praise
in the style of an artist in true paraphrase.
(24 September 2005 robi03_1306)
Bridgework
Artists palette, paints, prepare,
poets channel insight rare.
One canvas fills, one paper inks,
imagination interlinks.
Each respective stream compares
perceptions, self-respecting, thinks
perspectives sensitively, shares
[...] Read more
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Weekend Love
[Queen Latifah]
Weekend love
Gonna spend a weekend love
Weekend love
Just a case of weekend love
[Queen Latifah]
Have you been misled
Anything I said
Didn't mean to turn you on
The bite is oh so strong
You got things to do
But I have got things too
So I'll catch you on the weekend
Mondays to Fridays I don't see you then
[Unknown Reggae Artist]
A W-E-E-K and a E-N-D
And a L-O-V-E we were meant to be
A W-E-E-K, a E-N-D
L-O-V-E we were meant to be
[Queen Latifah]
[...] Read more
song performed by Queen Latifah
Added by Lucian Velea
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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
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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
[...] Read more
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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The Assassin, the Artist, and the Dog
Walking across this dangerous land
In this magical but corrupted world
The assassin, the artist, and the dog travel
This world is unbalanced
It surely is a world in ruin
The assassin, the artist, and the dog travel
And they know
That to survive
They must fight
Whether they like it or not
The assassin has his dangerous swords
and sharpened throwing tools
The artist has her enchanted paintbrushes
and magical paints
The dog has his bark and bite
And that's good enough for him
Everything else is perfect for the rest of them
[...] Read more
poem by Justin Gildow
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The Artist
He stands at no easel, he mixes no paint,
He colours no canvas to gladden the eye,
Yet the picture he makes will not fade or grow faint
Till our love of the chase shall desert us and die.
He's an artist of parts
Who appeals to the hearts
That can thrill to good hunting and hounds in full cry.
By his seat in the saddle, his touch on the reins,
His skill and his mastery, who can gainsay
That here is an artist in all that pertains
To the horse and his handling - a real R.A. ?
An artist 'twould irk
Not to cut out the work
When the hats are crammed down and a fox is away.
You will find him no centre of salon or crush,
No letters attached to his name may he sign,
But there's no one so eager to handle the Brush
And there's none so consistently found on the Line.
If an artist you ask,
Here's the man for the task,
[...] Read more
poem by William Henry Ogilvie
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Unicorn 3
What was known, was known. They asked
the artist who had sat all that bright morning, cool upon the hill,
to draw the trees in front of him, as sunlight crept
among the leaves, now here, now there,
lighting, upon the moss, the dewdrops one by one
sun-sipped; when the unicorn was, in a moment, there;
there, detached, yet offered; they asked the artist how it was.
He said that as the sun moved round and caught the leaves,
a love arose; so that when that creature was, so quietly, there,
it was no different from the love.
At first it stood quite still,
as if it knew what made it easier for him;
then later, walked around, sometimes its head raised so that the
sunlight caught its horn; moved, so that the artist then might know
what moved it. It was love.
Some asked eagerly: was it then as if the creature
drew itself? The artist could not answer. That was not untrue; and yet,
it was not quite like that. Rather, what was known, was known.
[...] Read more
poem by Michael Shepherd
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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,
[...] Read more
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Something Wonderful And Beautiful
:
:
A poem about the wildlife artist, Stephen Gayford
The artist stood with brush in hand
And prayed God would be kind
Enough to help him understand
The secrets he could find...
Then he began to paint away,
Each layer gently laid,
All expertise, all skills in play,
So he could pass the grade...
To pass the grade and then excel,
Until no more to do
And only then, bid it farewell,
When it was sold to you...
You thought it something wonderful
And beautiful to buy,
[...] Read more
poem by Denis Martindale
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