A Poetic Blog
Photography
Artisticreligious
“I witnessed a beautiful picture painted in crimson, elegant and frail. The art of the painting was meticulous as if it was mechanically designed to intake deeply distresses, and pumped passion through its abnormal character.
Detailed with affection, covered in existence, representing a language that spoke with criticism…. Overwhelmed, I begin to sob; for the painting had reveled art in a way of life.” –Nelvin Ray Love
I had a conversation that went something on the lines of this: “I really enjoy your work as a writer, although I believe if you incorporate a spiritual message in your work, which will make your intentions even better.”
So let’s just say that conversation led me to a point of confusion questioning the whole idea of art being a part of religion… just because I’m religious. Does one have to paint a picture of Jesus in all his work because he is Christian? Or a movie producer films a murder scene, but cleans it up with a God given message.
I mean, don’t get me wrong, if you’re a religious artist so be it…
But I feel as though art is raw, and true to thought, and expressive of the artist; but has a religious person I tend to have a guilty conscience that continues to criticize my responsibility has one of “God creations” “damn conscience”…
The general question is can one separate they’re spiritual/religious belief from art?
Umm…
I’ll answer that question in the word of Georges Seurat- “They see poetry in what I have done. No. I apply my methods, and that is all there is to it….
My Poetic Life (Part 2)
“Bang, Bang, I got you…!” Dead! :Hints: the disturbing picture below…
At this stage, my life is a video game. The name of the game is Grand Theft My Innocents while the world molests me…And yes the world molested me; a low down asshole that went by the name of Influence. Pure pressure was his sidekick… I feel in love with adolescence, she was so beautiful and young. One night she taught me how to use my tongue … and nothing sexual even though that would be the usual, it was sensual; a book that gave me Goose Bumps… so intellectual.
Street slang, gangster, slick rhythms with a cool beat, I felt so cool beans. I was the poster child for hip hop. I was ready to perform in front of anyone who was willing to take a seat… but there is no escape from reality, questioning myself; who am I? The answer was politely giving to me in the form of pain as if my glass heart chattered in my chest while cutting my arteries whereas realizing the meaning of death… But why God? Why Beth? She was my only Grandmother!
At 11yrs old my imagination of her was like a cassette tape and life was her stereo and her memories were just music that her heart danced to the beat. Depending on her mood, her song collection ranged from love, distress and even cheerfulness. A collection of her heart that I have memorized in the depth of my recollection… to be continued…
A Picture Within A Picture
I pictured a slave in the midst of a war of soldiers who are also enslaved by the government
Feet Bruised!
Feet bruised in sandals complimented with a reddish tone, skin damaged with a spirit big as stone, determined to become a thief of the character, while wearing a tunic that was woven in one piece, without a seam…
So it seems to be a painting of a war piece, backed by an infantry of prophesy to battle hate, and demolish hypocrisy, that was the philosophy no need for Socrates…
So you see… it was he who split the sea, his beliefs spit on by those that disagreed, although his intentions were low and meek, now on bended knee, the emotional teaching broke waves like an ocean, injecting a poison in the form of lecture, that spoke of the raptures people begin to take heed overwhelmed with grief, dancing with sin which introduced by his friend drunkenness; which feel in love with foolishness, in which gave no meaning to the term, soberness…
Now he has control of this, loose bowels, take a piss to release the non-sense, forgive my language knowing this is the end, I’m over this plant like earth; I could end it all right now with a slit wrist bleeding melody of pain on the piano keys the choir slowly plays a violin, when approached by a spirit that told me his feet were bruised in sandals complimented with a reddish tone, skin damaged with a spirit big as stone, who was determined to rob my character…
So you see… he recruited me with in his infantry to fulfill prophesy against hate and to demolish hypocrisy and in return he touches me in the most unconditional way, and redirects my life, I would say…
Converted with in belief I stared into his passion of Christ introduced has the Son of God, who came from the womb of Mary, whom hanged from the cross nailed, and buried within a rock of stone… Jesus Christ!
