МИКЕЛАНДЖЕЛОЗаставит мрамор петь, из глыбИх суть как будто извлекая.И недра отдают изгибЛюбой, всей массой возражая.Струятся волосы, текут,Восславя долгую работу.Труда помимо есть маршрутЕдва ль – дарующий свободу.А после мрамор будто наОгромных стенах дас ❯❯❯
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...
Апокалипсис – как история Зашифрованная человечества. Прочитать так его бы стоило – Вычленяя понятья вечные.
Конденсировано история Нам дана за печатями этими. Лишь вперёд важна траектория – Будет золото днями летними. Метафизика летнею, светлою, Вместе зрелою разливается. Код истории терпит ветхого Человека,- но тот меняется.
Апокалипсис предрекающий Переход в состояние новое Человечества – шаг решающий Сделан. Всё-таки книга суровая.
АПОКАЛИПТИКА Уравнения решать с наборомЧерезмерным неизвестных – как?Апокалипсиса текст, в которомСтоль сгущён сверхсимволами мрак. Уравненья тех печатей: вскрыты – Что ж…иди, смотри…Сгущён во тьмуКосной матерьяльности и бытаЖизни сок. Не много я пойму. Л ❯❯❯
Ливень часть вселенской мессы, Равно день твой, ночь твоя, Радости твои и стрессы, Постиженье бытия. Ливень скручивает струны Из ветвей и из листвы. Музыки его рисунок Сразу не узрите вы. Ливень кончится. Блистает Антрацитово асфальт. Светом синим отливает, Прозвучав, небесный альт. И дома, мёд жизней пряча В мессу мира включены. Толковать не стоит прямо Вам приснившиеся сны. Толковать метафизично Стоит будничность и боль. И тогда звучит отлично Каждая земная роль. Человека у ограды Старой дачи помню я. Код открыть, наверно, надо Всех сегментов бытия. И без оного открытья Есть вселенской мессы свет. Ощутить такой спешите, Высотой душевных черт.
БОГВ нём всё… Как странно, что нашлиКороткое такое слово. Что мы узнать о нём смогли?И жизни неясна основа…Бессчётные о нём словаНисколь не приближают к сути,Перед которой ум пасует,И снова – жизнь ясна едва. Он – лучше б говорили мы. Богатство церкви, пыш ❯❯❯
Главное лицо в страшном суде безусловно сам судья. Главное в образе судьи это то как он действует, в данном случае главным является жест рукой. Фреска написана Микельанджело только ради жеста судьи. Без этого жеста сама фреска была бы только художественным ❯❯❯
Да, Дмитрий. Нашла, что это должно быть похоже на скульптуру. А как этот эффект изобразить? Видела на картинах светящуюся кожу. Вообще не понимаю как это можно сделать. И где можно найти описание техник? ❯❯❯
Как бы жили сейчас люди, если бы не искушение с яблоком!!! Но в истории нет сослагательного наклонения, получилось так, как есть сейчас, Бог это знал, но ничего не предотвратил, почему? Сейчас без Его помощи сами из болота (наш мир) не выйдем, сил не хвати ❯❯❯
Возможно... А возможно и последствия реставрации? Как пишут, после последней реставрации японскими специалистами произошли утраты в красочном слое, к сожалению, уже безвозвратные и оставшиеся только на фотграфиях. И на фото после реставрации фрески выглядя ❯❯❯
И этот восторг продолжается у человечества, при виде этих грандиозных работ, уже пол-тысячелетия! Самые совершеннейшие изображения человеческих фигур, когда-либо сотворённые рукой человека. Ну, тут же, рядом – и его два земляка, коллеги и соперника – флоре ❯❯❯
Беспредельное совершенство в этих работах! Уникальные вещи на все времена, – мне кажется, что больше никто и никогда уже не сможет повторить такое... Человечество разленилось, "катаясь" на достижениях научно-технического прогресса, и такой концентрации сил ❯❯❯
Не знаю, может, дай бог, я и не прав, но на мой взгляд подиспортили японские реставраторы фреску вместе с потолком, убрав все нюансы и переходы тона и светотени! Смотришь на фото до реставрации и любуешься живыми вибрациями этих тонкостей полутонов, создаю ❯❯❯
Одно из самых лучших в мировой живописи изображений драпировки, на верхней части туловища Марии. Все формы неуловимо перетекают друг в друга, выявляя как форму тела мадонны, так и формы складок ткани. Все тонкости проработаны "до точки". Взгляд величайшего ❯❯❯
Сейчас перечитываю "Божественную комедию"великого Данте А. (самое любимое произведение М. Буонаротти которое он мог цитировать наизусть). Несомненно в этой фреске чувствуется влияние этого гениального сочинения, как говорится гений видит гения издалека, кс ❯❯❯
![The Torment of Saint Anthony [attr.], Michelangelo Buonarroti](http://cdn.gallerix.asia/j/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...
Апокалипсис – как история
Зашифрованная человечества.
Прочитать так его бы стоило –
Вычленяя понятья вечные.
Конденсировано история
Нам дана за печатями этими.
Лишь вперёд важна траектория –
Будет золото днями летними.
Метафизика летнею, светлою,
Вместе зрелою разливается.
Код истории терпит ветхого
Человека,- но тот меняется.
Апокалипсис предрекающий
Переход в состояние новое
Человечества – шаг решающий
Сделан.
Всё-таки книга суровая.
АПОКАЛИПТИКА
Уравнения решать с набором
Черезмерным неизвестных – как?
Апокалипсиса текст, в котором
Столь сгущён сверхсимволами мрак.
Уравненья тех печатей: вскрыты –
Что ж…иди, смотри…Сгущён во тьму
Косной матерьяльности и быта
Жизни сок. Не много я пойму.
Лагеря и тюрьмы, войны, казни,
Чёрная, убитая земля.
В свет пути забиты хламом – разве
Этого мы появились для?
За другой – печать иная вскрыта,
И под пятой каменеет кровь –
Праведники, за Христа убиты,
В белое оденет их любовь.
За какой печатью осветленье?
…звери танков, самолётов лёт,
Капли бомб, правителя сверженье.
Горькая вода. И горький мёд.
Всадники – столь страшные – промчали,
Жили мы, не замечая их.
Снятие печати к вертикали
Подведёт. Понятен этот стих?
Светозарность вертикали – света
В низовой прибавит мир. Терпи.
Может быть, постигнешь знаки. Это
Станет нужной ясностью тропы.
ВСЕЛЕНСКАЯ МЕССА
Ливень часть вселенской мессы,
Равно день твой, ночь твоя,
Радости твои и стрессы,
Постиженье бытия.
Ливень скручивает струны
Из ветвей и из листвы.
Музыки его рисунок
Сразу не узрите вы.
Ливень кончится. Блистает
Антрацитово асфальт.
Светом синим отливает,
Прозвучав, небесный альт.
И дома, мёд жизней пряча
В мессу мира включены.
Толковать не стоит прямо
Вам приснившиеся сны.
Толковать метафизично
Стоит будничность и боль.
И тогда звучит отлично
Каждая земная роль.
Человека у ограды
Старой дачи помню я.
Код открыть, наверно, надо
Всех сегментов бытия.
И без оного открытья
Есть вселенской мессы свет.
Ощутить такой спешите,
Высотой душевных черт.
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