Behind my chair at table Vincent sat…
well no, not Vincent, but his Bridge at Arles,
the painting that my parents bought, a pearl
of art. Our dining room wore Vincent’s hat
of blues and greens and yellows, peaceful feel.
A child, I didn’t really realize
how artists brushed their strokes into the skies.
I grew up with the Van Gogh color wheel.
The Langlois Bridge at Arles
The melancholy of sweet depression
like Poe and Vincent Van Gogh
those who were fraught with despair
have created haute cuisines
of flesh, of reds, of spleen
they’ve picked up their brushes, their pen and ink
their palettes exploded, fit to repair
splayed open wide
their vision, their loneliness and
the haunting beauty that possessed their minds
their art, wild and wanton
masterpieces of expression
born out of tongues that spoke with hysteria
and sights of historical blessings
that spoke about The Starry Night
of Annabel and The Raven’s delight
that spoke of shimmer, shiver and fright
of howling, wailing wicked light!
Vincent Van Gogh and
Edgar Allan Poe.
(I wrote this poetry as a tribute to both of these amazing artist’s. The above painting I did is of Michael Wolgemut, Vincent Van Gogh’s mentor and teacher; I painted him because I love Vincent Van Gogh and his work and was instantly attracted to his eyes, “the eyes are the window to the soul” as they say)
© [Jeanette Shihadeh] and [thepainterspalate.wordpress.com], [2012]. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material, artwork, or photo’s without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to [Jeanette Shihadeh] and [thepainterspalate.wordpress.com] with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.
