For those who occasionally feel discouraged...
After Michelangelo had finished his work on the Sistine Chapel he wrote a poem of his agony during the painting of this Sistine Chapel.
I've got myself a goiter from this strain, As water gives the cats in Lombardy Or maybe it is in some other country; My belly's pushed by force beneath my chin.
My beard toward Heaven, I feel the back of my brain Upon my neck, I grow the breast of a Harpy; My brush, above my face continually, Makes a splendid floor by dripping down.
My Loins have penetrated to my paunch, My rump's a crupper, as a counterweight, And pointless the unseeing steps I go.
In front of me my skin is being stretched While it folds up behind and forms a knot, And I am bending like a Syrian bow.
And judgment, hence must grow, Borne in mind, peculiar and untrue; You cannot shoot well when the gun's askew.
John, come to the rescue Of my dead painting now, and of my honor; I'm not in a good place, and I'm no painter.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment