Umetnik
Pre zavrsnog poteza,on je odustao.
Slomio je kicicu I bacio je na pod,
Bojama je uflekao zidove,
zapalio platno.
Nije verovao u sebe
i u svoje ruke koje su ga euforiji vodile,
nije verovao svojim ocima,
jer cesto su ga varale,
remek delo postalo je nakaza,
jos jedan poen za odustajanje
i zgariste nade….
Ali jednoga dana neko ce izdrzati do kraja.
Dočaran ego svakog umetnika. Nebitno šta držao u ruci, kičicu, tastaturu ili mikrofon. Moja severnjakinja ima običaj da kaže “kill the artist and sell the paintings”, asocirajući na neverovatnu postmortal popularnost.
Uvek nas ljudi bolje chuju kad smo mrtvi.
Ovo je inache ressurect iz koliko se secam 2004-2005te, a nekako u njoj samo mogu da nadjem josh vishe i vishe nekih kazivanja, osim samokritike kako je tada bila zamishljena.
Takav je stvaralački proces – pun dilema, nesigurnosti, preispitivanja i vrlo često osećanja sumnje u sebe, besmisla i očaja. Baš kao i sam život, jer i on je naša kreacija.
Dobra pesma!
Hvala puno na komentaru! Tachno je da se sa ovime maltene susrecemo svaki dan, cak i kad nismo umetnici, nekad nam se zamrachi i ne mozemo da vidimo lepotu u onome sto smo stvorili od samih sebe.
Ne mogu sada tačno da se setim o kom slikaru se radi, ali kažu da je večito nešto dodavao i prepravljao na svojim slikama koje su se ”smirile” tek kada je umro. (Ili kada bi ih prodao…)
Odličan post.
Ja se protiv tog nagona branim tako sto sve :zavrsheno: sakrivam od same sebe 🙂
Кажу психоаналитичари да је стваралаштво у снази спуштања у провокативне и надахнујуће амбисе несвсеног. И хитрог повратака у ЕГО.
У противном, почиње прича о граници између лудила и генијалности…
Поздрав.
Hvala puno na poseti i komentaru.
Nekada je tu granicu teshko razluchiti, dok otkucaj srca stvarnog sveta sve skrembluje svakog trenutka, metamorfzira u neshto drugo.
Ne bih znao nista o stvaralackom procesu. Odustajanje… to je vec druga stvar.
Veruj mi Goste da i ja o odustajanju mnogo vishe znam,nego o stvaranju i o umethosti 🙂
traganje za nacinom iskazivanja sebe je sam za sebe proces, a kad se krene za iskazivanjem kroz umetnicko stvaranje onda je to jos zamagljeniji put. Porivi postoje , dubine neke mame a granice dokle se moze su mutne, nekada se zaroni a nekada odustane i na dobroj dubini. Ali ako poriv postoji onda se uzme dah pa krene dalje.
Ponekad se desi da shvatish da si ustvari riba koja se popela na drvo misleci i cvrsto verujuci da je macka. Popnesh se,al onda se zazelish vode i bez obzira na uspeh osecash da momentalno morash da sidjesh.
Useless Ulysses
Cesto se tako osecam ili bolje reci, cesto se na taj nachin iskazujem, da 🙂
Thank you for following my blog!!
”Nije verovao u sebe
i u svoje ruke koje su ga euforiji vodile,
nije verovao svojim ocima,
jer cesto su ga varale,”
a trebalo je
Trebalo je i definitivno uvek treba! 🙂
Borba sa sobom je najteža, ali je ta pobeda najveličanstvenija.
Slazem se, a meni lichno ova izgubljena bitka stoji kao neki teret na ledjima koji me sa vremena na vreme podseti na svoje postojanje.
Hvala na poseti i na ovim mudrim rechima, ponekad nam treba da ih cujemo i od nekog drugog.
I would love to read a translation of this sometime. I did read it, and even though I do not understand a word, it sounds so beautiful to me! What language is this? I speak Greek and I feel like it would be wise to translate my poetry sometime. Being bilingual is awesome! 😀
This is a fairly old poem. It speaks about an artist who gives up painting, throws away his painting equipement,breaks it all and ends with:”But one day another one will last till the end.”. It is an autobiographical piece. I never knew what I wanted to be as a kid, I never had any big ambition. My brother was always painting so I decided it is best to copy his desire,seeing I was good at painting aswell. I started going to highschool preparation school of painting and it was horrible. I thought learning how to professionaly paint,new tehniques and everything will finaly help me bring all the images I had in my head to life. I wanted to paint dragons, fairies, magic, all I was ever allowed was apples and squashes. I felt like in chains on those classes, going from them back to abusive family with my teacher asking me to make 20+ works a day and to find inspiration in “my home”. All I wanted to paint her was blood. So I quit. I regret it sometimes, hence the ending of this poem. I wish I was stronger back then 🙂
You should defenatly translate your poetry to as many languages as you can speak, so more people can back in your wonderfull words:)
Thanks you for your thoughtful response! 🙂 Sounds like a very inspiring piece, but also quite heartbreaking. I may not know you personally, but I can tell you’re a very strong person now. Such writings come from an individual with a strong soul. ^_^
I don’t mind the sun sometimes,
the images it shows,
I can taste you on my lips
and feel you in my clothes.
Cinnamon and sugary
and softly spoken lies,
you never know just how you look
through other people’s eyes
Recent Comments
the temperature change across the artwork rouses lots of thoughts for the viewer – Bravo!
So happy for you. :)
Mirjana I think if such a being showed up at my door, it would take every fiber of my being…
Congrats Oloriel
You’re welcome! I did!
Color me in Cyanide and Cherry 
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