Showing posts with label paintings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label paintings. Show all posts

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

Beautiful One

This is another one of my stories. Enjoy!

Night like a clock is slowly but surley ticking away. Clouds are breaking off the sky; lightning is tearing it apart, just like this silence. I don’t know if I ever told you that I love a storm , especially when it comes in the right moment like this early morning…and the drops of rain fall straight into the sea.

Do you rememeber my darling; we were still young back then, young and naïve. We didn’t dream of the days that passed by, we wondered about those that were to come and be our forever.

The city was big back then, a lot bigger. From end to end the day walks, old people used to say, but instead we were different and we wanted little bit of space. Somehow personal and cynical, selfish, just for us.

The world, just like today, was stupid. The war was bad, people were dying all around us, and nobody knew anything. Everyone had weapons except our countries , our people, you and I used to believe. We read together, remember my darling those old books from my half empty shelves and poetry that you used to read to me by Mark Halter. Remember the sea, where the salt can be tasted, and the smell of yellow flowers;we never even knew the name. We made things up just not to stay away from each other…..rememeber?

I always asked you what Halter meant when he said “Im tired of everything; she threw herself in the river, the most beautiful girl from England!”

Shakespeare was dumb, you would say, but do you rememeber how we like that Hamlet and all other stories except Romeo and Juliet. They were not our style. Do you rememeber my darling how many times we turned your room into a stage and actors were you and I, audience as well. We thought that out love was the only one, the biggest one, we thought that’s what happenes to everyone when they fall in love, and life is long, the path isn't straight, it's dangerous just like that street on the corner of my house, where accidents used to happen all the time.

You name is still the most beautiful to me. Your lips were soft and tasted like fresh oranges. I still can't believe that this is you, that after 20 years we are at the same place the same beach tasting the salt of the sea and smelling the fragrance of those yellow flowers. We thought that we would never see each other again because our people had weapons too, my people and yours. They forgot about you and I, about love, about everything. We saw when the boots command how head has to take the steps. You are telling me how your daughter has a man that takes good care of her, mine does as well, but don’t tell her how people are good, and how we are the best, just don’t …tell the truth.

If they just told us the truth…..oh my darling…

Close your eyes and draw some lines on the paper of our memories and don’t kiss me like back then…what would people say? You saw how they stare at us.




Gustav Klimt - The Kiss


MORTAL LOVE - BEAUTIFUL ONE

Monday, March 1, 2010

The Stored Honey Of The Human Soul


A Picture Is Worth a Thousand Words

"O, how much simpler things would be
If eyes could paint or brush could see. "
By Robert Brault





"In the 1700's Voltaire wrote that the Renaissance in Italy marked one of mankind's greatest cultural achievements. Today, Italy has the most, and best preserved, Renaissance art in the world. Venice, Milan and Rome boast many well-known masterpieces from this age of enlightenment. However, the largest concentration of high art and architecture of Renaissance Italy, hence of the world, is in Florence. To travel in Florence is to truly take a trip back in time, to the age of discovery, when mankind passed from the darkness of the Middle Ages to a time of luxury, increased artistic freedom and scientific advancement."



Art and Florence ... Whoever has been in Florence knows about the museum Uffizi, which together with Museo del Prado (Spain) and Louvre (France) makes the historical puzzle complete. So much mystery behind the paintings..Mona Lisa....it takes my breath away. A picture itself can be alive, right in front of your eyes, yet you may not have a clue what it is about unless you study art. Art is the struggle to understand. I like it more as a mysterious piece which makes me wonder.  I gather together thoughts, in my imagination, everything I think the picture represents. And I'm usually wrong...but it’s my imagination and it allows me to make up things that no one would ever thought of....it’s the power we posses. Being an artist is a gift. You’re born with a magical hand not taught. It’s a magnificent gift in fact, one should be proud of…There are many artists that I adore…but here are some of the pictures that made me loose myself in them...


This art is silent poetry.



I love these pictures of Flamenco dancers...no faces, only movements...makes me want to dance! They're so ALIVE!




Morning Sunlight




Old Florence




Beauty...takes one back in time...(Once upon a time...)



          Collier- Godiva



My favorite painting of all time...The Birth of Venus ( La Nascita di Venere) by Botticelli

Interpretation: Venus had two aspects: she was an earthy goddess who aroused humans to physical love or she was a heavenly goddess who inspired intellectual love in them. (Interpretation of Plato - and - the members of the Florentine Platonic Academy.Plato further argued that contemplation of physical beauty allowed the mind to better understand spiritual beauty. So, looking at Venus, the most beautiful of goddesses, might at first raise a physical response in viewers which then lifted their minds towards the Creator.

My Interpretation: In my world, it represents freedom and love. Her naked body stands untouched and sacred yet exposed to passion freely. She is the Goddess of Love, she is a beauty. In my eyes, she is pure and innocent and a very passionate woman, the most beautiful I've seen from the Renaissance era.


LOVELY!

"No great artist ever sees things as they really are. If he did, he would cease to be an artist. "
By Oscar Wilde
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