MICHELANGELOHe makes marble sing, extractingTheir essence from the stones deep core.And hidden depths reveal the curve,Resisting with their mass and all.The hair flows, a cascade of art,Praising the long hours spent in toil.Beyond mere labor lies a path,A ❯❯❯
THE WAY OF THE MAGIWhat did one see? What did another learn?And what did the star reveal to the third?A desert covered in snow-like grains?Mighty walls and cities within them...?To grasp the essence of space and time,Camels, blankets, bales obstruct the wa ❯❯❯
MICHELANGELO(A Poem)In the workshop, the smell of paint is strong,A wooden table, sheets of paper.The masters cloak is richly red – And the master himself is almost a magician.Messer Lodovico opposesHis son studying here.But the son is so determined,That h ❯❯❯
In the workshop, the smell of paint is strong, A wooden table, sheets of paper. The masters cloak is richly red – And the master himself is almost a magician.
Messer Lodovico opposes His son studying here. But the son is so determined, That he breaks through the powerful barrier Of his fathers resistance, Although he is only thirteen years old. Work inspires more than inspiration, How much more appropriate darkness is to light...
What mountains did I see around me When I went out? A flock of clouds shines white, Covering the heavenly meadow. Poplars stand in a mass, Such a huge mass of marble, Processed by them – and presented as a miracle Of labor and perspective.
Here is Michelangelo in Lorenzos cozy Gardens, frenzied, He throws himself into – and he himself is fierce – Into the massive stone – he gives The radiance of future images. The marble is transparent, it lives, And you feel its breath Promising flight. Flight of fantasy, for example – That will lead to another sphere, Different from life here – In his beloved city rich In entertainment, joy, and vanity. Oh, if only I could turn Florence Into a sculptural garden... I look At the clouds – heavenly marble - And in them, I find creations, Suddenly resembling each other. The stone is glorious. Buonarroti has loved To carve and touch it since childhood. It is gentle and stern at the same time, Giving a variety of light. There is rosy, golden, And white – like foam and waves.
The heavenly mass seems to have been Lowered here with its creations, Where the environment is diverse, Where life sometimes crushes terribly The best aspirations of people. There are many people with the Medici. Savornola is raging He wants to erase everything – He preaches sternly, Asceticism is the path he has chosen.
The sculptors wanderings. Heights That he still has to take. Life has turned in circles, They need to be deciphered. Life is also a decoding, Those who succeed are successful, And those who dont... its awkward to talk about. Now the master is ripe for service.
He will carve David from the mountain – The torches burn all night, Lets compare Buonarroti with a cyclops - A lamp is attached to his head, And Buonarroti works at night, Forgetting About the givenness where we walk together, Sometimes hating that givenness.
Two people are chatting on a bench About televisions – Which one Do I know what to buy... Here you have to, Choose a good one. I need a big one. But Michelangelo has more important things To do than them. Their life is dense. And there is no boundary or limit to it, And the heights are so conventional.
Here is the master lying on scaffolding, His back is hunched, There is paint on his face, and the plasterer What writings will emerge Through images on that chapel? The newly created reality Will explain so much in fact To the one looking. Well, direct The striving for acquisition in the heart Into a creative impulse. The chapel tells us about the means Of discovering new perspectives.
Pietà flows and shimmers, Grief flows with great density. He who can see absorbs And that sacred honey of sorrow.
Two people are talking – Again, discs Were bought, and the evening is not empty. Life is good, theres no need to risk, The route is clear. Is it boring? Let it be...
But Michelangelo has heights and Vast distances to reach! Hear those heavenly notes, That will voice the essence of the path.
But Michelangelo never reconciled with height. It doesnt matter – for a follower of faith We dont think only about the earthly path.
Mountain ranges are above us He translated them into marble light. And awareness is like a flame Licking the mind – we lived in vain! And how, living under the clouds, Can we change our own destiny?
1 The magical gold of sculpture gleamed in the snow-covered masses of meat – masses of marble. A small, unattractive Tuscan learned at the bottega of Ghirlandaio, then in the gardens of Lorenzo the Magnificent; a small, persistent man, ready to work all day long, he perceived the marble power, the wholeness of the mystical seed embedded in each block of marble, so that he could later gift us with a forest of sculptures – radiating the essence of mystery, carrying within them the secrets of the universe in images, forms, frescoes... Its no wonder we remember him by his name – Michelangelo...
2 The silence of contemplation in Leonardos creations; the silence of the Last Supper; the mysticism of the Mona Lisa – this colossal icon, radiating a luminous force. Color and chiaroscuro – like facets – two out of countless – of the highest alchemy that reveals the secret of great transformation through souls, both solitary and majestic: how to move higher and higher, without losing your way... The roads trod by Leonardo. The golden coins he received. Leonardo observing bees – these golden, flying flowers; Leonardo constructing a new device whose purpose is not yet clear. Leonardo – a sum; not even a sum – but a sum of sums; a human mystery given in one person...
3 The semantic fields of El Greco... In the soft glow of candles, the artist with his elongated, jaundiced face creates frenzied canvases. There were the secrets of Cretan icon painting, when in the catacombs, in dimly lit niches, the eyes of saints flashed; there was Italian learning, and now – the ancient city of Toledo, wrought iron, Moorish... The eyes of the saints, captured by the mystical Greek, flow with the juice of faith, burning through the souls of those who look at them with an unknown acid... Landscapes of Toledo, greenery winding like ribbons through years, stone masses of churches and buildings; threads of light stretching from the paintings into a mysterious eternity...
4 The dancing peasants of Bruegel... You can smell the sweat – but not in a repulsive way – its a wholesome smell of healthy bodies, powerful field workers. The peasant celebration is rich and beautiful; no wonder the pies carried by the bearers are enormous; the peasant celebration is abundantly seasoned with hops, and the amber beer plays invitingly, tempting the newcomer. Well, brace yourself – and you will enter the canvas, participate in the feast and dances; or you will see children playing, dressed in an aura of joy, or... Its enough to look at the paintings, and the garden of this old, vibrant world will open up to you, without concealing a single nuance.
5 In a transparent sphere, there are two long, pale pink figures; and the stack is enormous – like an entire country. The wanderer doesnt come anywhere, but the holes in his pants remind of petals of broken faience. A concentration of infernal abysses – a giant knife cuts through a structure made of two huge ears, while a weasel reads wearing accounting glasses on its nose. It is Boschs self-portrait. Thin lips – not lips, a surgical incision. A lunar animal. The carrier of a secret that can never be deciphered.
6 What cannot be in reality – can be on paper. The impossibility of retreat increases the sense of hopelessness. But there is where to escape – into the starry worlds of fantasy. Piranesi works diligently on a new sheet. Slowly, columns appear, entwined with powerful, bearded mosses, complex, labyrinthine systems of transitions, staircases hanging in the air... And our own world hangs over the abyss – but it lingers, it lingers until a new engraving appears, mysterious as a dream, quiet as an ocean, turbulent as a tightly coiled whirlwind...
7 Dreams create strange constellations – a tiger from a perch, a rifle from the tigers mouth... A bee flies slightly above a slightly broken pomegranate, and the landscape forms the face of Voltaire... Thin elephant legs will hold, collecting the mystical spider strength, the weight of their bodies, and the dead come out of the ground, regaining flesh again... Should we decipher Dalís paintings? Or should we just look at them, searching for correspondences to the subtle lines of thought, often twisted in the head so that it is impossible to understand – is this reality? A dream?
8 The juiciness of earthly sap – the fruits of bodies given by Rubens. An excess of life, a symphony of S-shaped contours; the awakening density of myths... Twilight Rembrandt, reflections on copper, and the Night Watch goes, goes, following strict rules, and gentle Danae receives golden rain... The pearly light of Vermeer – always given from the same angle; and the landscapes of the Little Dutch Masters – its so wonderful to ride on a porcelain wind, because the ice of the canals is reliable, and the sharpened skates gleam brightly... Nightmares that Goya condensed will disappear in the morning, but there will remain sheets testifying: the minds dream is fraught with... The richness of the pictorial gardens promises those who can see panoramas of wonders – exceeding what ordinary reality can offer...
9 Poems turn into engravings – engravings that refine reality, changing it; engravings whose semantic chords will allow you to hear what no speech can convey... A compass and a cloud, a flower and a dream, mathematics and poetry, alchemical tinctures and dreams of the philosophers stone – elements connected by the engraving skill of Blake – the stout, poor Blake, who celebrates an invincible victory over rigid reality with each sheet...
Apocalypse – like a story Encoded by humanity. It should be read in this way - Extracting eternal concepts.
History is condensed Given to us through these seals. Only the trajectory forward is important - Gold will shine on summer days. Metaphysics, bright and ripe, Spreads together. The code of history endures the old Humanity, but that changes.
Apocalypse, predicting A transition to a new state Of humanity – a crucial step Has been taken. Still, it is a harsh book.
How to solve equations with a set Of excessive unknowns? The text of the Apocalypse, in which So much darkness is condensed into symbols.
The equations of those seals: they are revealed – Well… go and see... Condensed into darkness Is the essence of materiality and everyday life, Too much for me to understand.
Camps and prisons, wars, executions, Blackened, devastated land. The path to light is cluttered with junk – Are we meant for this?
Another seal is revealed, And blood turns to stone underfoot – The righteous, killed for Christ, Will be clothed in white by love.
Which seal reveals enlightenment? ... The roar of tanks and airplanes, Bombs falling, the overthrow of rulers. Bitter water. And bitter honey.
The riders – so terrifying – have passed, We lived without noticing them. Revealing a seal leads to a vertical line. Is this verse understandable?
Verticality brings light, Adding brightness to the world below. Endure. Perhaps you will understand the signs. This Will become a necessary clarity of the path.
APOCALYPSEHow to solve equations with anExcessive number of unknowns?The text of the apocalypse, in whichSo much darkness is condensed into symbols.The equations of those seals are broken – Well… go ahead and look… Condensed into darknessIs the bitter mate ❯❯❯
Rain is a part of the universe mass, Just like your day, your night, Your joys and sorrows, The comprehension of existence. The rain twists strings From branches and leaves. You will not immediately see its melody. The rain will end. The asphalt gleams, Anthracite-colored. It shimmers with blue light, A celestial alto has sounded. And the houses, hiding the honey of life, Are included in the mass of the world. Do not interpret your dreams directly. Interpret the banality and pain metaphysically. And then every earthly role sounds perfectly. I remember a person by the fence Of an old dacha. Perhaps you need to open the code Of all segments of existence. And without this discovery, There is light in the universe mass. Hurry to feel it, With the height of your spiritual qualities.
GODIn Him is everything... How strange that they found such a short word.What have we been able to learn about Him?And the foundation of life remains unclear...Countless words are said about Him,But none come close to the essence,Before which our minds fal ❯❯❯
The most important figure in the terrifying judgment is undoubtedly the judge himself. The key to the judges image lies in his actions; in this case, it is primarily the gesture of his hand. Michelangelo painted the fresco solely for the sake of the judges ❯❯❯
I read that the work was done in the kandjiante technique. I searched online, but it couldnt explain what this technique is. What exactly is kandjiante? ❯❯❯
Yes, Dmitry. I found something that looks like it might be similar to a sculpture. And how can I depict this effect? Ive seen glowing skin in paintings before. I dont really understand how its done. And where can I find descriptions of those techniques? ❯❯❯
How would people live now if there hadnt been the temptation of the apple?! But history doesnt have a subjunctive mood; things are as they are. God knew this but didnt prevent it. Why? Now, without His help, we wont be able to get out of this swamp (our wo ❯❯❯
Perhaps... Or perhaps the consequences of restoration? As it is written, after the last restoration by Japanese specialists, there was a loss in the painted layer, unfortunately irreversible and now only visible in photographs. And in the photos, the fresc ❯❯❯
And this sense of wonder continues for humanity, as we behold these magnificent works, now for half a millennium! They are the most perfect depictions of human figures ever created by human hand. And right there, nearby, are his two fellow countrymen, coll ❯❯❯
Boundless perfection in these works! Unique creations for all time – it seems to me that no one else will ever be able to replicate something like this again... Humanity has become lazy, relying on the achievements of scientific and technological progress, ❯❯❯
I dont know, maybe Im wrong, but in my opinion, the Japanese restorers may have ruined the fresco along with the ceiling, removing all the nuances and transitions of tone and light. Looking at the photos before restoration, you admire the vibrant subtletie ❯❯❯
One of the finest examples of drapery in world painting is found in the upper part of Marys torso. All forms subtly blend into each other, revealing both the shape of the Madonnas body and the shapes of the fabric folds. Every detail is meticulously render ❯❯❯
Why do I like Michelangelos Sibyls so much?Because of their dignity, beauty, and grandeur.They are masculine in appearance but also beautiful, and above all, wise and learned. ❯❯❯
Im currently rereading Dante Alighieris Divine Comedy (my favorite work of M. Buonarroti, which he could recite from memory). Its undeniable that this fresco is influenced by this brilliant work; as they say, genius recognizes genius from afar. By the way, ❯❯❯
![The Torment of Saint Anthony [attr.], Michelangelo Buonarroti](http://j5.galerix.ru/M/1161425349/1115577905.webp)
COMMENTS: 51 Ответы
MICHELANGELO
(Poem)
In the workshop, the smell of paint is strong,
A wooden table, sheets of paper.
The masters cloak is richly red –
And the master himself is almost a magician.
Messer Lodovico opposes
His son studying here.
But the son is so determined,
That he breaks through the powerful barrier
Of his fathers resistance,
Although he is only thirteen years old.
Work inspires more than inspiration,
How much more appropriate darkness is to light...
What mountains did I see around me
When I went out?
A flock of clouds shines white,
Covering the heavenly meadow.
Poplars stand in a mass,
Such a huge mass of marble,
Processed by them – and presented as a miracle
Of labor and perspective.
Here is Michelangelo in Lorenzos cozy
Gardens, frenzied,
He throws himself into – and he himself is fierce –
Into the massive stone – he gives
The radiance of future images.
The marble is transparent, it lives,
And you feel its breath
Promising flight.
Flight of fantasy, for example –
That will lead to another sphere,
Different from life here –
In his beloved city rich
In entertainment, joy, and vanity.
Oh, if only I could turn Florence
Into a sculptural garden...
I look
At the clouds – heavenly marble -
And in them, I find creations,
Suddenly resembling each other.
The stone is glorious.
Buonarroti has loved
To carve and touch it since childhood.
It is gentle and stern at the same time,
Giving a variety of light.
There is rosy, golden,
And white – like foam and waves.
The heavenly mass seems to have been
Lowered here with its creations,
Where the environment is diverse,
Where life sometimes crushes terribly
The best aspirations of people.
There are many people with the Medici.
Savornola is raging
He wants to erase everything –
He preaches sternly,
Asceticism is the path he has chosen.
The sculptors wanderings. Heights
That he still has to take.
Life has turned in circles,
They need to be deciphered.
Life is also a decoding,
Those who succeed are successful,
And those who dont... its awkward to talk about.
Now the master is ripe for service.
He will carve David from the mountain –
The torches burn all night,
Lets compare Buonarroti with a cyclops -
A lamp is attached to his head,
And Buonarroti works at night,
Forgetting
About the givenness where we walk together,
Sometimes hating that givenness.
Two people are chatting on a bench
About televisions – Which one
Do I know what to buy...
Here you have to,
Choose a good one. I need a big one.
But Michelangelo has more important things
To do than them. Their life is dense.
And there is no boundary or limit to it,
And the heights are so conventional.
Here is the master lying on scaffolding,
His back is hunched,
There is paint on his face, and the plasterer
What writings will emerge
Through images on that chapel?
The newly created reality
Will explain so much in fact
To the one looking.
Well, direct
The striving for acquisition in the heart
Into a creative impulse.
The chapel tells us about the means
Of discovering new perspectives.
Pietà flows and shimmers,
Grief flows with great density.
He who can see absorbs
And that sacred honey of sorrow.
Two people are talking – Again, discs
Were bought, and the evening is not empty.
Life is good, theres no need to risk,
The route is clear.
Is it boring? Let it be...
But Michelangelo has heights and
Vast distances to reach!
Hear those heavenly notes,
That will voice the essence of the path.
But Michelangelo never reconciled with height.
It doesnt matter – for a follower of faith
We dont think only about the earthly path.
Mountain ranges are above us
He translated them into marble light.
And awareness is like a flame
Licking the mind – we lived in vain!
And how, living under the clouds,
Can we change our own destiny?
IN THE GARDENS OF PAINTING
1 The magical gold of sculpture gleamed in the snow-covered masses of meat – masses of marble. A small, unattractive Tuscan learned at the bottega of Ghirlandaio, then in the gardens of Lorenzo the Magnificent; a small, persistent man, ready to work all day long, he perceived the marble power, the wholeness of the mystical seed embedded in each block of marble, so that he could later gift us with a forest of sculptures – radiating the essence of mystery, carrying within them the secrets of the universe in images, forms, frescoes... Its no wonder we remember him by his name – Michelangelo...
2 The silence of contemplation in Leonardos creations; the silence of the Last Supper; the mysticism of the Mona Lisa – this colossal icon, radiating a luminous force. Color and chiaroscuro – like facets – two out of countless – of the highest alchemy that reveals the secret of great transformation through souls, both solitary and majestic: how to move higher and higher, without losing your way... The roads trod by Leonardo. The golden coins he received. Leonardo observing bees – these golden, flying flowers; Leonardo constructing a new device whose purpose is not yet clear. Leonardo – a sum; not even a sum – but a sum of sums; a human mystery given in one person...
3 The semantic fields of El Greco... In the soft glow of candles, the artist with his elongated, jaundiced face creates frenzied canvases. There were the secrets of Cretan icon painting, when in the catacombs, in dimly lit niches, the eyes of saints flashed; there was Italian learning, and now – the ancient city of Toledo, wrought iron, Moorish... The eyes of the saints, captured by the mystical Greek, flow with the juice of faith, burning through the souls of those who look at them with an unknown acid... Landscapes of Toledo, greenery winding like ribbons through years, stone masses of churches and buildings; threads of light stretching from the paintings into a mysterious eternity...
4 The dancing peasants of Bruegel... You can smell the sweat – but not in a repulsive way – its a wholesome smell of healthy bodies, powerful field workers. The peasant celebration is rich and beautiful; no wonder the pies carried by the bearers are enormous; the peasant celebration is abundantly seasoned with hops, and the amber beer plays invitingly, tempting the newcomer. Well, brace yourself – and you will enter the canvas, participate in the feast and dances; or you will see children playing, dressed in an aura of joy, or... Its enough to look at the paintings, and the garden of this old, vibrant world will open up to you, without concealing a single nuance.
5 In a transparent sphere, there are two long, pale pink figures; and the stack is enormous – like an entire country. The wanderer doesnt come anywhere, but the holes in his pants remind of petals of broken faience. A concentration of infernal abysses – a giant knife cuts through a structure made of two huge ears, while a weasel reads wearing accounting glasses on its nose. It is Boschs self-portrait. Thin lips – not lips, a surgical incision. A lunar animal. The carrier of a secret that can never be deciphered.
6 What cannot be in reality – can be on paper. The impossibility of retreat increases the sense of hopelessness. But there is where to escape – into the starry worlds of fantasy. Piranesi works diligently on a new sheet. Slowly, columns appear, entwined with powerful, bearded mosses, complex, labyrinthine systems of transitions, staircases hanging in the air... And our own world hangs over the abyss – but it lingers, it lingers until a new engraving appears, mysterious as a dream, quiet as an ocean, turbulent as a tightly coiled whirlwind...
7 Dreams create strange constellations – a tiger from a perch, a rifle from the tigers mouth... A bee flies slightly above a slightly broken pomegranate, and the landscape forms the face of Voltaire... Thin elephant legs will hold, collecting the mystical spider strength, the weight of their bodies, and the dead come out of the ground, regaining flesh again... Should we decipher Dalís paintings? Or should we just look at them, searching for correspondences to the subtle lines of thought, often twisted in the head so that it is impossible to understand – is this reality? A dream?
8 The juiciness of earthly sap – the fruits of bodies given by Rubens. An excess of life, a symphony of S-shaped contours; the awakening density of myths... Twilight Rembrandt, reflections on copper, and the Night Watch goes, goes, following strict rules, and gentle Danae receives golden rain... The pearly light of Vermeer – always given from the same angle; and the landscapes of the Little Dutch Masters – its so wonderful to ride on a porcelain wind, because the ice of the canals is reliable, and the sharpened skates gleam brightly... Nightmares that Goya condensed will disappear in the morning, but there will remain sheets testifying: the minds dream is fraught with... The richness of the pictorial gardens promises those who can see panoramas of wonders – exceeding what ordinary reality can offer...
9 Poems turn into engravings – engravings that refine reality, changing it; engravings whose semantic chords will allow you to hear what no speech can convey... A compass and a cloud, a flower and a dream, mathematics and poetry, alchemical tinctures and dreams of the philosophers stone – elements connected by the engraving skill of Blake – the stout, poor Blake, who celebrates an invincible victory over rigid reality with each sheet...
Apocalypse – like a story
Encoded by humanity.
It should be read in this way -
Extracting eternal concepts.
History is condensed
Given to us through these seals.
Only the trajectory forward is important -
Gold will shine on summer days.
Metaphysics, bright and ripe,
Spreads together.
The code of history endures the old
Humanity, but that changes.
Apocalypse, predicting
A transition to a new state
Of humanity – a crucial step
Has been taken.
Still, it is a harsh book.
APOCALYPTICA
How to solve equations with a set
Of excessive unknowns?
The text of the Apocalypse, in which
So much darkness is condensed into symbols.
The equations of those seals: they are revealed –
Well… go and see... Condensed into darkness
Is the essence of materiality and everyday life,
Too much for me to understand.
Camps and prisons, wars, executions,
Blackened, devastated land.
The path to light is cluttered with junk –
Are we meant for this?
Another seal is revealed,
And blood turns to stone underfoot –
The righteous, killed for Christ,
Will be clothed in white by love.
Which seal reveals enlightenment?
... The roar of tanks and airplanes,
Bombs falling, the overthrow of rulers.
Bitter water. And bitter honey.
The riders – so terrifying – have passed,
We lived without noticing them.
Revealing a seal leads to a vertical line.
Is this verse understandable?
Verticality brings light,
Adding brightness to the world below. Endure.
Perhaps you will understand the signs. This
Will become a necessary clarity of the path.
UNIVERSE MASS
Rain is a part of the universe mass,
Just like your day, your night,
Your joys and sorrows,
The comprehension of existence.
The rain twists strings
From branches and leaves.
You will not immediately see its melody.
The rain will end. The asphalt gleams,
Anthracite-colored.
It shimmers with blue light,
A celestial alto has sounded.
And the houses, hiding the honey of life,
Are included in the mass of the world.
Do not interpret your dreams directly.
Interpret the banality and pain metaphysically.
And then every earthly role sounds perfectly.
I remember a person by the fence
Of an old dacha.
Perhaps you need to open the code
Of all segments of existence.
And without this discovery,
There is light in the universe mass.
Hurry to feel it,
With the height of your spiritual qualities.
You cannot comment Why?