Vincent Van Gogh painted three versions of this painting ‘The Bedroom at Arles’. This is the third version he painted in 1889. He painted it whilst waiting for his mother to visit him in a Lunatic Asylum in St Remy. He was to commit suicide 10 months after this painting. He called his chair ‘The Seat of happiness because the colours symbolise sunshine, warmth and happiness.
” When I see my canvasses again, after my illness, The one that seemed the best was ‘The Bedroom’
The idea is to write a haiku about the painting and link to Echostains and Bookstains and it shall appear here. Here’s mine;
Which of these art quotes speak truthfully to you and which do you disagree with? Just vote for your favorite and why you disagree with any. Truth or fiction? It’s all subjective.
I agree with Da Vinci who illustrates the difference between poetry and art so succinctly.
Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, and poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen. ~Leonardo da Vinci
But as usual, Picasso has a rather dramatic yet persuasive way with words (but I can’t disagree with him)
We all know that Art is not truth. Art is a lie that makes us realize truth, at least the truth that is given us to understand. The artist must know the manner whereby to convince others of the truthfulness of his lies. ~Pablo Picasso.
I can see where Mattise is coming from – but he makes it sound so boring:-
I don’t paint things. I only paint the difference between things. ~Henri Matisse
I also agree with Degas too. I have seen a lot of very delightful art made by untrained children and sometimes breaking the rules can free your art.
Painting is easy when you don’t know how, but very difficult when you do. ~Edgar Degas
Rouault’s strangled laugh sounds quite terrifying, a kind of torturous escapism (and one I haven’t experienced…yet) so I would have to disagree with him:-
For me, painting is a way to forget life. It is a cry in the night, a strangled laugh. ~Georges Rouault
I have to agree with Claes Oldenburg to an extent, I do like art to do something rather than sit in a museum – but I do like to know where it is for when I want to visit it 🙂
I am for an art that is political-erotical-mystical, that does something other than sit on its ass in a museum. ~Claes Oldenburg
So, to sum up Leonardo Da Vinci gets my ‘truth’ vote and poor old Rouault gets my disagreement vote 😉
A lot of people go on to my other blog ‘Bookstains’ looking for something to see. I’ve been putting my own poetry and book reviews on there and just linking to it. Now I am going to host my poetry challenges on there too! The Vincent Van Gogh poetry challenge was a real success and all the entries were very individualistic, imaginative and thoughtful:) I’d like to thank all that joined in – and say that the challenge is OPEN indefinitely so if you want to join in just click HERE, watch the minute long video and send your poem either in your comment OR just email me and I’ll put it on. You may copy the ‘Vincent Could have told You’ logo if you want – don’t forget to link to me at Bookstains🙂 It goes without saying that I shall be promoting the challenges after my posts on echostains.
That’s the news – here’s another challenge:-
This poetry challenge is about the smile of the famous Mona Lisa painted by Leonardo Da Vinci between 1503 – 1506. The lady’s smile (and it has been said that she may not be all ‘she’ seems) is one of the most enigmatic smiles ever painted. The challenge is write a poem or a haiku about that smile, or the lady or the relationship between the artist and the lady. Here’s an extract of mine :- to see the rest and to join in with your own, just click the pic and send your poem either in the comment box or by email and I will put it on. You can use the Mona Lisa pic – but please link back to Bookstains’
Eleanor Farjeon (1881 – 1965) was a British poetess, author, playwright who liked to make history interesting for children. She is mostly known for her hymn‘Morning has Broken (1931) which was written to the tune of an old Gaelic refrain. I read some of her writings when I was a child (The Little Bookroom) and among her poems, this one has always haunted me. What I like about this particular poem is that she seems to really understand the childs fears about night-time and the wild imaginings and terrors that can occur: the odd shapes of bedroom furniture that are transformed into all kinds of terrifying beings! (maybe it’s just me? :0). She then couples the restlessness (which is when the child really starts imagining) with the soothing comforting queen in the blue velvet gown (compare this with the torn worn hood of the thieving gypsy).
Night
Night can be a gypsy
In a torn worn hood,
And a rough gruff voice,
And a dark stark mood,
And holes in her hovel in a dank rank wood.
Lest she steal me away
To the wastes of the sky
I’ll hide from the gypsy
When the wind rides high.
Night can be a queen
In a blue velvet gown,
With a pearl on her brow
And diamonds in her crown,
And a silky silver train lined with swan-white
down.
To sing and to play
In the courts of the sky
Til bow to the queen
When the moon rides high.
Video by poetryanimations Thanks! and there is an interesting article about this author just under the video by Jim Clark that is well worth reading!
Just Click the Van Gogh image to take you to the video
Whilst we’re on the subject of poetry, opoetoo has just made a comment about my post which shows some Van Gogh images morphing into each other.……………………………………..this gave me an idea for a challenge! Are you up for it? Write a poem about what you think Van Gogh might be saying through the painting, or what message you think he is trying to convey. Put it on your site and link to mine and I’ll make a page putting all the poems dedicated to this on my blog with a link to yours. Make as profound or just plain daft as you like!!
I think it’s about time for another William Butler Yeats poem. This one is called ‘When you are old’ (and I know the feeling:)) I always think it an extra bonus when the poet themselves actually reads their own poem. After all, the writer above all knows the way that their work was meant to sound.
‘When You are Old’ was written for Maud Gonne , a woman who rejected his proposals and there are some beautiful sentiments within the poem about the longevity of love. But this could also be interpreted as ‘well you missed your chance with me….’ though. Or you could see it as Yeat’s saying that beauty has fled and with it many admirers, but one remains steadfast. The way that the poem is read has a kind of lulling and comforting quality. it is sad in places, but the ‘when’ of it suggests that the woman isn’t yet old. Which way you would you interpret this poem yourself?
A while ago, I featured the famous poetess Maya Angelou poem I know why the caged bird sings. Here’s another one that I think is absolutely amazing and uplifting in its message. This poem is almost like a hymn – it is a song of freedom to everyone who needs to find inner strength and courage. It is a celebration of the human spirit. What a gift this woman has! Please listen to these words and enjoy. I realise that Angelou is a household name to most people, but I have only recently discovered her – what a find eh:)
This is a short version of the poem – for the longer more detailed one – it’s here
“Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s miraculously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.
I came across ‘Slam’ poetry the other day and was curious about the word ‘Slam’ and how it related to poetry. According to Wiki, a poetry Slam is a competition where people recite their own work and are judged by a set of chosen judges. The work is usually political and topical and quite fast. Taylor Phillips gives a passionate and furious delivery about poetry and the use of words. Poets are judged not only on their poem but also on the delivery of that poetry and the passionate delivery. Her poetry and pace took my breath away – I hope you enjoy this as much as me:)
passionate and a fast and furious delivery Taylor Phillips
It’s not a sunny day, but it is warm. As usually on these humid days, I am off out of the place for a bit of exercise. I thought we would have a bit of poetry and for some reason or other the old Robbie Burns came to mind. I do love his poetry, but its a long time since I read any. When you first read his words, it’s difficult to get the feel for the language because it is very ‘Scottish’, but after a while this does become a lot easier. The words then begin to flow and you do truly appreciate the beauty and wisdom!
Wee, sleekit, cowran, tim’rous beastie,
O, what panic’s in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
Wi’ bickering brattle!
I wad be laith to rin an’ chase thee,
Wi’ murd’ring pattle!
I’m truly sorry Man’s dominion
Has broken Nature’s social union,
An’ justifies that ill opinion,
Which makes thee startle,
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,
An’ fellow-mortal!
I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen-icker in a thrave ‘S a sma’ request:
I’ll get a blessin wi’ the lave,
An’ never miss’t!
Thy wee-bit housie, too, in ruin!
It’s silly wa’s the win’s are strewin!
An’ naething, now, to big a new ane,
O’ foggage green!
An’ bleak December’s winds ensuin,
Baith snell an’ keen!
Thou saw the fields laid bare an’ wast,
An’ weary Winter comin fast,
An’ cozie here, beneath the blast,
Thou thought to dwell,
Till crash! the cruel coulter past
Out thro’ thy cell.
That wee-bit heap o’ leaves an’ stibble,
Has cost thee monie a weary nibble!
Now thou’s turn’d out, for a’ thy trouble,
But house or hald.
To thole the Winter’s sleety dribble,
An’ cranreuch cauld!
But Mousie, thou are no thy-lane,
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men,
Gang aft agley,
An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain,
For promis’d joy!
Still, thou art blest, compar’d wi’ me!
The present only toucheth thee:
But Och! I backward cast my e’e,
On prospects drear!
An’ forward, tho’ I canna see,
I guess an’ fear!
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