AN ARTIST SHOULD BE ADMIRED

 

An artist should be admired

Treasured and inspired

And encouraged to create

Art to which we can relate

THE PAINTER AND HIS MODEL

 

The painter and his model

Were smitten from the very start

And every stroke of his brush

Said “I love you with all my art”

THERE WAS UPROAR AT THE BAZAAR

 

There was uproar at the bazaar

In fact, it was a little bizarre

When the face painting artist

Turned out to be a Surrealist

VINCENT VAN GOGH’S SUNFLOWERS

 

Vincent Van Gogh’s Sunflowers

Brought me to tears

If I had painted them, I would

Have cut off both ears

THE SCULPTOR CREATES

 

The sculptor creates

With skilful hands

The beauteous article

An artistic gift

Its concept borrowed

From his dreams

And his subconscious mind

To infuse in his design

And create a work of art

WHERE THE WHITE RABBIT WENT

Where the white rabbit went

Then young Alice followed

And down a rabbit hole they went

And both of them were swallowed

ARTISTIC PRACTICE

 

The potter breathing life

Into cold dead clay

An artist and his canvas

Killing the White

The sculpture seeing visions

In the lifeless stone

Wordsmiths weaving

Elaborate fabric with their words

Wood carvers releasing

The image hid within the wood

The unity between hand and mind

Artists and artisans all

GIRL WITH A PEARL EARRING

 

With exquisite touch

His brush added lustre

To the pearl

Endowing it with life

As it adorned the virgins ear

The depth of its splendour

Holds the watcher transfixed

With its ivory hue

Contrasting with the maidens flesh

Her milky complexion

Lit from the window

Her half open silent lips

Speaking to the soul

Her simple beauty

Shining from the canvas

How Vermeer the master

Captured that moment in Delft

And how the girl with a pearl earring

Captures everyone who sees her

THERE’S A NEW MOVIE IN PRODUCTION

 

There’s a new movie in production

About a bunch of Comic Art Heisters

Specifically, the work of Mike Mignola

The film is called Steal Mignolas

 

Credit to Selina J @OfSelina

FREDERICK BAZILLE

 

In the woodlands of burgundy

A bright light of impressionism

Was cut down by Prussian rifles

In the name of French imperialism

 

His corpse left decaying in a ditch

Found by his father under burgundy skies

A founder member of a movement

Unnamed until long after his demise

ART ABLAZE

When the blaze struck

That warehouse in Leyton

Works of Brit art were lost

By Hirst and Emin

A fifty million collection

Belonging to Charles Saatchi

What a dreadful shame

That the warehouse was half empty

DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?

 

Many years ago, in the days when the steak houses were only just appearing and there wasn’t a fast-food joint on every corner, indeed the only fast food establishment was the chip shop although the more cosmopolitan towns did have a wimpy bar.

Any way I arrived, with my wife, at a highly regarded and exclusive restaurant where I had a reservation, made three months in advance I might add.

Well on entering the restaurant the scene that greeted me was that of the Maitre’d being confronted by a very angry man in fact he was so angry that his face was a strange purple colour, and his temples were throbbing and the reason for his shouting was that he was demanding he be seated at the last available table.

The purple faced man in question was a well-known TV actor of the day in fact at the time he was starring in a series called “The Lotus Eaters” I won’t mention his name, but I can say that it wasn’t Wanda Ventham.

The Maitre’d looked a little relieved when he saw me come in and immediately informed the purple faced actor that the vacant table was in fact reserved for this gentleman and his companion and he gestured in my direction.

The charmless though interestingly coloured man, now turned his attention on me and tried to persuade me to give up my reservation by shouting loudly at me.

When I refused his kind offer, he said “Do you know who I am?”

“Yes” I said and told him exactly who he was and what program he was currently in.

“Do you know who I am?” I asked him in return.

He looked puzzled and then answered “No”.

“I’m the bloke with the reservation” I told him.

He then had thick blue veins throbbing in his neck to go with his purple face and his language was even more colourful than his head.

PLAYING WITH WORDS

This thought occurred to me

Just the other day

Why do people play at a recital?

Yet recite at a play

THE SCULPTOR CREATES

 

The sculptor creates

With skilful hands

The beauteous article

An artistic gift

Its concept borrowed

From his dreams

And his subconscious mind

To infuse in his design

And create a work of art

IS IT ART?

 

Is this talent or just invention?

Is it genius or just pretension?

“Half the air in a given space”

“Coral reef” or an image of “Grace”

“Opium”, or “the Magnificent Seven”

For the critic’s manna from heaven

“Bewitched”, or “the upright figure”

And others to make you snigger

Even a picture of “Liz smoking”

Is this art? you must be joking

IS THIS ART?

 

Martin Creed or Damien Hirst

Collins, Gormley which one’s worst

A pickled sheep in formaldehyde

A light goes on and off inside

The truth about salt and paper crumpled

Painting by numbers and things untitled

A pile of bricks an unmade bed

Is this art or is art dead?