Wednesday, June 10, 2015

Rembrandt: The Story of Paintbrushes and Portraits

Let me introduce myself to you.

I’m a Dutch painter through and through. 

Rembrandt is my chosen name.

I put my paintings in a frame.

They hang in famous art museums,

Once or twice in large coliseums. 

Now I’ll teach you everything I know.

You’re my students; it’s tell and show.

I understand the human condition. 

It puts me in a unique position,

To paint a portrait with truth and light.

Oh, portraits are never, ever trite.

Light illuminates all the perspectives.

Each angle reveals several objectives.

I’ve painted myself with all my bumps.

Look closely, and you can see my lumps,

My imperfections, wrinkles, and my sags.

When I’m tired, my eyes have bags.

My brushwork is exquisite indeed.

Every stroke is like a good deed.

Keep your brushes in a glass jar,

And make sure the bristles never mar.

I didn’t hide my weaknesses and flaws.

You can discern my ugly faux pas,

But most times, I have a steady gaze,

A reflective mood without a haze.

I’ll challenge you with determination.

Look at my eyes and see my vocation.

I could have painted a field or a pond,

But confronting the viewer causes a bond. 

From young to old, my portraits are telling.

Now and then, the paintings are selling.

A visual diary across six decades

With blacks, grays, and deeper shades.

Young and laughing with a feathered bonnet,

I’m almost like a Shakespearian sonnet.

I tried to pick costumes with flair,

And considered what I shouldn’t wear. 

Compare my moods and my expressions.

Each pose has ninety-nine impressions.

Pen and brush with paper and ink.

My drawings won’t fade or shrink.

Oil on canvas, and walnut on oil,

Artistic toil doesn’t ever spoil.

Cut my work down to size:

My paintings will win the prize.

My easel is sometimes used for etching,

Widening, shaping, erasing, and sketching. 

Pictures of myself are now quite famous.

Critics compare me to good ol’ Amos,

An old-time prophet with a color palette.

The simple folk have cast their ballot.

From time to time, I’m too self-assured.

Despite my mistakes, I’ve still endured.

Most people romanticize my life. 

My heart broke when I lost my wife.

And then I had financial trouble. 

My life almost became like rubble.

When I decided to turn up my collar, 

My problems became so much smaller.

Strength and dignity filled my face.

I was struck with common grace.

Once and a while, I changed my mind.

The colors were dark in what I designed.

Size and color of a beret might change.

Or hand position might rearrange. 

My hands were clasped, and then they’re not.

A paintbrush made my face distraught.

Oh, I painted over the past with ease.

Broad strokes have always been big keys.

It’s better to keep attention to the eyes.

Distraction can be extremely unwise.

Background circles can sometimes be good,

But the foreground can’t be misunderstood.

Pastels were never my strongest suit.

My paintings aren’t flowery and cute.

Historians say I’m from the Golden Age,

When Baroque style was all the rage. 

Contemporaries look good in my paint,

Sincerity and charm without restraint.

“Man in the Golden Helmet” had poise.

“The Music Party” made lots of noise.

“Girl at a Window” had the longest view.

“Old Man with a Gold Chain”: déjà vu.

“Philosopher in Meditation” was handsome.

“The Return of the Prodigal Son” met ransom. 

“Saul and David” was painted in two stages.

Yes, all this work survived the ages. 

“The Night Watch” might be better known.

“The Artist in His Studio” is alone. 

My authorship has had restoration,

Paintings restored to their foundation.

I am as authentic as authentic comes, 

And so is my work in all its sums. 

Now before you go, and before I leave, 

I have something up my sleeve.

Can I paint you for my collection?

The world needs your own reflection.

Every single life is historic,

And its course is meteoric. 

You can smile if you want to smile,

Or you can think a thought a while.

Either way, your image is timeless.

And your name won’t be rhymeless.

A larger image was the original design. 

My brush tried to paint the plumb line.

Capturing the essence of heaven on Earth:

Life and death; and worthy rebirth.

 

Copyright 2017 Jennifer Waters


https://soundcloud.com/jen-waters/rembrandt-narrated-by-jen-waters

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