By an eye captured
By a hand adorned
With each little brushstroke
The image is formed
Is it an expression
Of its subject true?
Is that really what art’s meant to do?
Is it the spirit of the thing that’s at play?
No!
It’s that the soul of the artist that sees it that way
Padre
Where have gone the days of courtly love
Of romance from afar – so chaste
When knights errant favour sought with brave deeds
To brings a smile to a maiden’s face
But now it’s all flash and show
Sexuality – affection eclipsing
And all captured so powerfully
In two contrasting couples in this depiction
Padre
Artist’s expression
Compassion immaculate
Captured in cold stone
Padre
Vincent sat at his easel and squinted at the majesty of the queens in his vase. The Paris series had been a success. Now a year later, Arles beckoned. The pot – simple, two-toned, was a perfect tool, as was the plain wall of the studio.
“How many sunflowers?” he questioned to himself. “Ten. A dozen more or less.” He grinned to himself. “The public needn’t know how many are actually in the vase, only the number in my mind.”
With that Vincent picked up his palette and began to mix his yellows, as the lemon queens awaited their day.
Padre
Gardens are not all things of beauty
Refuges of flowers and veg
Many are spaces merely hidden
Behind a fence or hedge
But on these blank canvases of promise
Green fingers work their tricks
And soon wondrous things do bloom
Where before was only sticks
Padre
Brick and terracotta
Formed from earthy clay
Work of artisans and artists
Their ingenuity to display
From such a substance – simple
Spurned by most as dirt
It becomes things of beauty
As a master’s hands convert
Brick and terracotta
And Earth-born pottery
Ancient expressions
Of utility and artistry
Padre
While this poem is meant to sing the praises of the simple forms associated with mere clay, it is also an allegory on human worth. If we can have such accomplishments with something “spurned as dirt,” how much more can we look forward to seeing in human potential – even the from those seen as other or less?
Enter a caption
Welcome to my abode –
Here in Mayfair fine
I welcome up-and-coming talent
To decorate this place of mine
You might think that I’ve more money –
Than I do – common sense
In running down my property –
Driving down the rents
No, it’s kind of an art academy
As I hope you can plainly see
Some day, I will be the proud owner
Of a work – by the next – Banksy
Padre
MorgueFile April2020 de7d4bbd9d9bd75223d4b1456286f256
“It looks like it’s had better days,” Deidre said as she looked at the peeling paintwork.
“It don’t look much, but I assure you the timber’s sound,” the old fisherman said. “Been storin’ my nets and tackle her for right near fordy years. Only selling-up cuz I’m retirin’.”
“Only 1200, you said?” Deidre asked.
“Yessum, and twenty a month for wharf access if you’re wantin’ it.”
“Okay, when can have your nets and things out?” she asked the old fellow.
“Well all the best tackles been sold already,” he replied. “What’s left goes with the hut.”
Deidre looked at the assortment of net fragments, old floats, and a well rusted boat anchor, and said, ” Okay. It’s a deal. My lawyer just wants you to write 1200 here,” she said pointing to a place on a crisp contract, “and sign here and here.”
Thus Deidre acquired the Bayside Studio for Maritime Art. A few licks of varnish over the peeling paint was all it took to capture the rustic appeal. As for those odds and ends inside they quickly were incorporated into her first commission for an up-market couple from Boston, who said it was “Just perfect to remember their romantic seaside getaway.”
(200 words)
Padre
FLASH FICTION FOR THE PURPOSEFUL PRACTITIONER
Pixabay
Andre had no formal qualifications, but he loved to paint and draw, and he had even tried his hand at some sculpting in wire. He had become proficient in doing city-scapes, and eked out a meagre living selling them to tourists.
His “studio” was no more than a garden shed. It was there that he transformed the sketches he made while waiting for customers into paintings.
One evening there was a ferocious evening storm. It seemed to rock the very foundations of his humble home. In the morning, Andre discovered that a tree had fallen onto the roof of his beloved shed, collapsing the roof. Shelves had tumbled, and canvases and paints alike were strewn willy-nilly about the ruins.
There would be no sales that day as Andre began to pick through to detritus of his livelihood. He managed to salvage two completed paintings of the Lion Bridge, and three other canvases which were salvageable, though they were splattered with assorted paint and garden grime. The grim task completed, he went inside to await the slim possibilities of the next day.
In the morning, he carried his remaining artwork to the Lion Bridge, and set the two extant works against the railings, in the hope of drawing some custom. With no studio to work in, he next took one of spattered canvases and placed it upon an easel. He was just starting to paint a faint outline of one of the lion sentinels onto the canvas when a distinguished looking couple approached.
The hatchet-faced lady picked up one of the completed paintings and held it up to her gentleman companion. The man pulled a face, and the pair both shook their heads disapprovingly. As the man picked up the other work to give it a closer examination, the woman stepped up to Andre’s work in progress.
“Reginald,” she called in a nasally noise, “I think I have found just the piece for above the fireplace in the villa.”
Padre
Antonio Canova, Paolina Borghese as Venus Victorious, 1804-08, white marble, 160 x 192 cm (Galleria Borghese, Rome)
The model lounged upon the pillowed couch. Her pose was natural, and yet alluring. Her focused gaze drew any observer to either follow her stare, or to latch onto her fine feminine visage. She truly had the face of an angel.
White
Marble –
Chisel Cut.
Intricately
Fashioned Lines and Curves.
Michelangelo-like,
Sculptor Crafts a Masterpiece,
Bringing Awe In Adoring Fans –
Witnesses To Talent Unsurpassed.
An Angelic Face Captured For All Time.
Weekend Writing Prompt #144 – Sculpture in 71 words
Padre
Padre's Ramblings 
