When I began asking questions I saw so much more to learn. I enjoy that still. But I do not need my ZEN and now I am free to take the PATH. I could advise the young 'grasshopper' about very little except to open his eyes much less than his ears (to people).
I can say I want to know what he sees with so little of the war and the wages I have paid in the war to be all I can BE! I can hope he will ask why I was so stupid when he hears me recount so many things.
Starry, starry night.
Paint your palette blue and grey,
Look out on a summer's day,
With eyes that know the darkness in my soul.
Shadows on the hills,
Sketch the trees and the daffodils,
Catch the breeze and the winter chills,
In colors on the snowy linen land.
Now I understand
...what you tried to say to me
how you suffered for your sanity
how you tried to set them free.
They would not listen
they did not know how
perhaps they'll listen now.
The singing and ringing of a tune in my head
In truth the words I seldom have read
No matter to me they rang in my heart
I never will know of his greatest art
WHAT are friends?
We wander the streets of Paris or Rome
Never to ever call one our true home
Life flutters past and breaches the walls
We build to keep pain away we're not so tall
The bright colors shone out on dresses and grain
Alive all they shared was drink, in the main
Leaving the castle where his legs were made short,
............ was not easy for Henri to court.
His loving mother wanted nothing of the sort
His first real love embellished his pain
He could not listen to his mother's refrain
She told him a woman would see him as tall
His father was always out in the horse stall
At the end of their lives they knew more than pain
I can never be certain of what we have gained
One thing I know --- they truly became
Great loving people and my heroes too
I think of them often whenever I'm blue.
It makes me aware though I am quite big
Of life, and how much I cannot have achieved
But I have continued to honor the twig
With paint on the end, a life not bereaved.
Henri said he could not paint the fields of his beautiful countryside when his mother pleaded for him to come home when he was suicidal after losing the woman who taught him carnal love. He could only feel so much and his mind processed and synthesized philosophies beyond those of his compatriots who thought they were high class or those who really cared for him at the Moulin Rouge. He said Van Gogh could startle people into seeing such depth of light but he was a common worker of night.
The movie by John Houston and the man who played Lautrec was sublime. Jose Ferrer had owned the rights to the book before Houston made him a pitch of how to make Lautrec's art come to life. It might be the greatest monument to art the artist can have. Even when moments in the movie had none of his art it had the streets, people and buildings presented as if they were art. One gets the same feeling watching Kirk Douglas and Anthony Quinn feel so much life in every moment. People say an artist needs to be this fragile and energized or depressed. I say what Lautrec said about Da Vinci's Mona Lisa is truer, he said Da Vinci's payment was in the creation of the art. It did not matter to Van Gogh or Henri what money came into their life, Van Gogh never got any and Henri was the first living artist to be exhibited in the Louvre. His father screamed his forgiveness for not having realized his true artistry, into his departing soul. Henri cared for every person deeply and did not let any ever again get close enough to let him believe he could trust their love. I have felt all these things and I am satisfied with the Mysteries of LIFE!
When he finally met a woman who could love him for how much he cared for all things rather than the money and status she was being offered because of her beauty; he was hurt so deeply he drank himself to death, after he rejected her love. Did Vincent cut off his ear to feel this much pain? Did he ever love this way?
What IS art?
Our whole life is a canvas and our purpose the paint
Whenever our soul realizes or reaches it we faint
Every atom becomes full of the purpose beyond simple self
................ and orgasmic comprehension.
My words fruitless, my mindless expression
Compassion, it rages and rumbles so fiercely, I stumble
Tripped up in pursuit of something which only can crumble.
Art is creation and needs no acclaim,
but when that's given in truth we remain
what greater LOVE?
I say on that "Starry, starry night" Vincent gave more love to us than we could accept and in some sick way it is us who suffered the depression or bi-polar condition he is now said to have suffered. It is our guilt in knowing our culpability that drives the prices of his art so high. It makes me cry when I sing that song even though I never really remember the words because to remember would steal the next moment of listening and feeling!