Frederick Van Gogh was not as accomplished as his more famous cousin. Freddy was more the paint by numbers kind of artist. But he had a good ear for music. That was more than he could say for Vinnie. Since that mishap with his straight razor, everything just seemed monotone.
That suited Freddy to a tee! Now the playing field was level.
But the lesser-than Van Gogh created a buzz around the art world with his own self-portrait. It was known that Frederick was a loner, very to himself. His personality was as scarce as his acquaintances. And his lack of skill and fore-sight left him one step from the pinnacle alongside his now less handsome cousin.
His portrait was done totally in hues of black and white. There was no ruddiness in his cheek; no blondness of hair. His crimson blazer was a very muted charcoal on canvas. Forty-nine hues of black and white to be exact. Oh, the likeness was very good, but he had cruelly included a third ear floating in the background. A tweak to the great Vincent Van Gogh.
The Van Gogh clan treated Frederick like an outcast. His jealousy was one thing, but the ear... it was as if he had cut off his nose to spite his face. So much for one-upsmanship!
My brush paints broadly. Fine strokes are for the self-absorbed. I blur; an abstract with a surreal tint. Hues of fiery heat; reds, yellows, some umber (I take umbrage to umber). Complementary blues and greens to cool my innerds just a smudge!
The ground is barren. Foliage underfoot is not in my picture. Grass does not grow where I tread; a manic meander beating a path to my muse. I refuse to allow it to rest. At best, all the greenery fills my background scenery.
Trees are abundant, purple-mountain majesty reigns supreme, and I dream of a lake, serene and sublime, fed by a waterfall to stir and churn my thoughts so I ought not be stagnant. My shadow is long and deep, and it creeps into the thinking of others who seek my impressions. The only depression hides in the lurking darkness of a lone cave; my mind where my ideas go to die(resurrected as wisps of worded wonder).
I am under its spell. A palette of rain-bowed rhyme and reason. The brush continues its dance upon the canvas that life has provided. I can't hide it, my masterpiece is yet to be revealed. Until then it is sealed within the wide strokes of my red sable muse!
Truly a beautiful gift of nature !!!
ReplyDeleteBack to painting the lily, eh!
ReplyDeleteFrederick Van Gogh was not as accomplished as his more famous cousin. Freddy was more the paint by numbers kind of artist. But he had a good ear for music. That was more than he could say for Vinnie. Since that mishap with his straight razor, everything just seemed monotone.
ReplyDeleteThat suited Freddy to a tee! Now the playing field was level.
But the lesser-than Van Gogh created a buzz around the art world with his own self-portrait. It was known that Frederick was a loner, very to himself. His personality was as scarce as his acquaintances. And his lack of skill and fore-sight left him one step from the pinnacle alongside his now less handsome cousin.
His portrait was done totally in hues of black and white. There was no ruddiness in his cheek; no blondness of hair. His crimson blazer was a very muted charcoal on canvas. Forty-nine hues of black and white to be exact. Oh, the likeness was very good, but he had cruelly included a third ear floating in the background. A tweak to the great Vincent Van Gogh.
The Van Gogh clan treated Frederick like an outcast. His jealousy was one thing, but the ear... it was as if he had cut off his nose to spite his face. So much for one-upsmanship!
hahaha, Walt, it's great!
DeleteWalt - hahahaha! Brilliant!
DeleteLove this, Walt. I swear, I'd love to be a fly on the wall of your writing space, just to see how you come up with such clever stuff.
ReplyDeleteBrave Lady! It even scares the crap out of me at times! Thanks all. I'm just wound that way...all twisted the wrong way!
DeleteBut, the lady said paint your landscape, so...
ReplyDeleteUNSURE FOOTING
My brush paints broadly. Fine strokes are for the self-absorbed. I blur; an abstract with a surreal tint. Hues of fiery heat; reds, yellows, some umber (I take umbrage to umber). Complementary blues and greens to cool my innerds just a smudge!
The ground is barren. Foliage underfoot is not in my picture. Grass does not grow where I tread; a manic meander beating a path to my muse. I refuse to allow it to rest. At best, all the greenery fills my background scenery.
Trees are abundant, purple-mountain majesty reigns supreme, and I dream of a lake, serene and sublime, fed by a waterfall to stir and churn my thoughts so I ought not be stagnant. My shadow is long and deep, and it creeps into the thinking of others who seek my impressions.
The only depression hides in the lurking darkness of a lone cave; my mind where my ideas go to die(resurrected as wisps of worded wonder).
I am under its spell. A palette of rain-bowed rhyme and reason. The brush continues its dance upon the canvas that life has provided. I can't hide it, my masterpiece is yet to be revealed. Until then it is sealed within the wide strokes of my red sable muse!
Walt - what a vivid landscape you paint. Although, I am not surprised. Just in awe,
ReplyDelete