GET LOST IN ART

“Art enables us to find ourselves and lose ourselves at the same time.” -Thomas Merton

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Ti prego dimmi che sei italiana Amo la storia dell'arte e l'arte in generale ma non so mai con chi parlare Sarebbe bellissimo avere una persona con cui discutere della cosa più bella di questo mondo

ciao! spero di non aver risposto eccessivamente in ritardo. purtroppo per questioni di tempo/impegno questo blog è abbastanza inattivo, lo aggiorno veramente di rado.

ti lascio il mio instagram se ti va di parlare un po' d'arte io sono sempre disponibile! :)

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[get-lost-in-art]

Some wish         their poem to be         marble or crystal. I wanted mine to be a peach         or pear         or banana rotting on a plate preferably on a verandah where people talk and work and can hear         the noise from the street.         My only ambition         is the rotten poem the pulp wounded         exposed the voice deep within                            festering         on the plate the liquor the chemistry         of syllables                            the decaying corpse         of metaphors         a poem         like a disaster in progress.

Ferreira Gullar, “Disaster”

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Hubert Robert - Imaginary View of the Grande Galerie in the Louvre in Ruins

1796 / oil on canvas / 114.5 cm x 146 cm / Louvre Museum (Paris, France)

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Dante Gabriel Rossetti - The Blessed Damozel

1871-1878 / oil on canvas / 136.8 cm × 96.5 cm / Harvard Art Museums (Cambridge, USA)

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A small green valley where a slow stream flows And leaves long strands of silver on the bright Grass; from the mountaintop stream the Sun's Rays; they fill the hollow full of light. A soldier, very young, lies open-mouthed, A pillow made of fern beneath his head, Asleep; stretched in the heavy undergrowth, Pale in his warm, green, sun-soaked bed. His feet among the flowers, he sleeps. His smile Is like an infant's - gentle, without guile. Ah, Nature, keep him warm; he may catch cold. The humming insects don't disturb his rest; He sleeps in sunlight, one hand on his breast; At peace. In his side there are two red holes.

Arthur Rimbaud, “Asleep in the Valley”

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Wright Barker - Circe

1889 / oil on canvas / 138 cm × 188 cm / Cartwright Hall Art Gallery (Bradford, UK)

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If you are coming to me, I am beyond Oblivion. Beyond Oblivion is a place Where dandelions run into the veins of air, Bringing news of a faraway blooming bush. The sands bear the footprints of delicate horsemen Mounting the hilltop of poppies. Beyond Oblivion, the umbrella of desire is open. As soon as thirst blows onto the root of a leaf Rain sings songs of freshness. One is lonely here. Where an elm’s shadow streams into eternity. If you are coming to me Approach gently, softly lest you crack The fragile china of my solitude.

Sohrab Sepehri, “An Oasis in a Moment”

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William-Adolphe Bouguereau - The First Mourning

1888 / oil on canvas / 203 cm × 252 cm / Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes (Buenos Aires, Argentina)

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The weight of the world is love. Under the burden of solitude, under the burden of dissatisfaction the weight, the weight we carry is love. Who can deny? In dreams it touches the body, in thought constructs a miracle, in imagination anguishes till born in human‒ looks out of the heart burning with purity‒ for the burden of life is love, but we carry the weight wearily, and so must rest in the arms of love at last, must rest in the arms of love. No rest without love, no sleep without dreams of love‒ be mad or chill obsessed with angels or machines, the final wish is love ‒cannot be bitter, cannot deny, cannot withhold if denied: the weight is too heavy ‒must give for no return as thought is given in solitude in all the excellence of its excess. The warm bodies shine together in the darkness, the hand moves to the center of the flesh, the skin trembles in happiness and the soul comes joyful to the eye‒ yes, yes, that’s what I wanted, I always wanted, I always wanted, to return to the body where I was born.

Allen Ginsberg, “Song”

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Walter Crane - The Lady of Shalott

1862 / oil on canvas / 24.1 cm × 29.2 cm / Yale Center for British Art (New Haven, USA)

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Edward Burne-Jones - Perseus and the Graiae

1892 / oil on canvas / Staatsgalerie Stuttgart (Stuttgart, Germany)

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Sebastian Pether - The Eruption of Vesuvius

1825 / oil on wood panel / 30.48 cm x 42.86 cm / Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art (Kansas City, USA)

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I don’t love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz,   or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:   I love you as one loves certain obscure things,   secretly, between the shadow and the soul. I love you as the plant that doesn’t bloom but carries   the light of those flowers, hidden, within itself,   and thanks to your love the tight aroma that arose   from the earth lives dimly in my body. I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,   I love you directly without problems or pride: I love you like this because I don’t know any other way to love, except in this form in which I am not nor are you,   so close that your hand upon my chest is mine,   so close that your eyes close with my dreams.

Pablo Neruda, “One Hundred Love Sonnets: XVII”

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Édouard Bisson - Swinging

1895 / oil on canvas / 107.95 cm x 73.98 cm / Bury Art Museum (Bury, UK)

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Peter Paul Rubens - St Mary Magdalene in Ecstasy

1619 / oil on canvas / 295 cm × 220 cm / Palais des Beaux-Arts (Lille, France)

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Ciao sei bella

Ciao persona, ti ringazio

Lo sei anche tu, tanti bacini♡

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Elihu Vedder - The Pleiades

1885 / oil on canvas / 61.3 × 95.6 cm / Metropolitan Museum of Art (New York, USA)