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PAINTING "MUSIC" BY GUSTAV KLIMT
(1862-1918)
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PAINTING BY GUSTAV KLIMT (1862-1918)
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PAINTING "PALLAS ATHENA" BY GUSTAV
KLIMT (1862-1918)
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PAINTING BY GUSTAV KLIMT (1862-1918)
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PAINTING " THE DANCER " BY GUSTAV
KLIMT (1862-1918 )
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PAINTING "THE PEAR TREE" BY GUSTAV
KLIMT (1862-1918)
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PAINTING " DEATH & LIFE
" BY GUSTAV KLIMT (1862-1918)
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Above are examples of the ornate & lush & sensuous works of art by the Austrian Gustav Klimt ( 1862-1918)
Here are some brief notes about Klimt gleaned from the net.
"Gustav Klimt was born as the son of a gold and silver engraver in a suburb of Vienna. He had a formal art training at the
Vienna School of Decorative Arts.
In 1897 Gustav Klimt founded with other artists the Vienna Secession ( the Nouveau Art Movement) and became its first president.
By that time Klimt had developed his own and characteristic style, which should became the trademark of the movement. Like
impressionism, art nouveau was an International revolt against the traditional academic art style.
Gustav Klimt's style is highly ornamental. The Art Nouveau movement favored organic lines and contours. Klimt used a lot of
gold and silver colors in his art work
Klimt's works of art were a scandal at his time because of the display of nudity and the subtle sexuality and eroticism. His
best know painting The Kiss, was first exhibited in 1908.
From 1900 to 1903 Gustav Klimt worked on commissions by the Vienna University for a series of ceiling murals. For his mural
works Klimt used a wide variety of media - metal, glass and ceramics.
In 1905 Gustav Klimt left the Vienna Secession ...He went into design works for fashion and jewelry. His understanding of
art as something that should not be confined to art academies, studios and canvases ... The very idea itself was again revitalized
with the Pop Art Movement in the sixties and seventies. "
from website
/www.artelino.com/articles/gustav_klimt
And From "Symbolism", a Taschen art book by Michael Gibson.
at Mark Harden's Artchive
www.artchive.com
" Far from being acknowledged as the representative artist of his age, Klimt was the target of violent criticism; his work
was sometimes displayed behind a screen to avoid corrupting the sensibilities of the young. His work is deceptive. Today we
see in it the Byzantine luxuriance of form, the vivid juxtaposition of colors derived from the Austrian rococo - aspects so
markedly different from the clinical abruptness of Egon Schiele. But we see it with expectations generated by epochs of which
his own age was ignorant.
For the sumptuous surface of Klimt's work is by no means carefree. Its decorative tracery expresses a constant tension between
ecstasy and terror, life and death. Even the portraits, with their timeless aspect, may be perceived as defying fate. "
Anyway here is the newest addition to my poem NIGHT OF A THOUSAND HOURS .
NIGHT OF A THOUSAND HOURS IV
TWENTY THOUSAND NIGHTS
PART I
twenty thousand nights of a thousand hours
imprisoned for life
pacing the floors
tossing & turning in beds
haunted by regrets & nightmares
like turning on a spit over a raging fire -
turning my back on a thousand well-meaning friends
never saying good-bye properly
never keeping in touch
never dropping a line or a post-card
from this island fortress
nuking all my bridges -
writing thousands of lines of poetry
waiting for the muse to strike
to infuse these lines with greatness
they all seem so mediocre
so banal so lifeless
letting me down no longer
feeling the ecstacy of creativity -
where are my Leaves of Grass
my book of evil flowers
my Alcools or Waste Land or Cantos
or ode to Brooklyn Bridge or angry Howl
where are my songs of innocence & experience
my Heaven & Hell or Divine comedy
where is my Paradise Lost or Faerie Queen
where are my Lucy poems or Childe Harold
where is my Patterson or Sonnets to Orpheus
where is my own epic or manifesto
defining my aesthetics & metaphysics
my sensibilities & my politics
where is my requiem & lamentations
where are my revelations of the indefinable
like precious gem stones buried
at the centre of myself revealing
the secret face of my soul where it gathers
around it like a magnet all other souls
each as luxurious or as poor as the other -
am I a madman who became a poet & philosopher
or simply a poet who became a madman
is it all an act or passing phase as some say
hard to believe at fifty it’s a long fucking phase
if a few lines could mean something to a select few
would that be enough
fifty a hundred a thousand
who are we kidding maybe millions would suffice -
what if I had taken that other road
neither seemed from a distance better than the other
their secrets locked away an uncertain future
I stumbled down some road or other
found myself somewhere else -
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