Postcards from Klimt

From behind the complex wall of colour

That shields the artist from the boisterous world,

The mirror between

Art and autonomy,

Patronage and relevance,

Public and private,

Death and life,

Klimt spoke for himself;

Not in the sea-sick language

Of words

Spoken or on a page,

But through postcards and paint,

Intertwined in the golden thread

Of the highs and lows of his art.

Scrawled postcards trace journeys

Both glorious and tiring,

While sensuality streams from portraits

Of lovers and beloved,

Fashionable and seductive sirens

Of art nouveau.

Oh to be one of those sirens,

To feel the touch of genius,

Damp brush on warm canvas,

Gold leaf on rich pigments,

One of many in the studio garden,

Among the poplars and beech forests,

Or on the shores of a lake;

To receive just one postcard

From Klimt.

Цифровая репродукция находится в интернет-музее

Image found on Pinterest


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