Cleos & Romantik
Cleos Cleos
Romantik Romantik
Cleos Cleos
I was just thinking about how abstract art can be like a sonnet in visual form, each brushstroke a metaphor that whispers to the eye—do you ever feel a painting is trying to write a poem in color?
Romantik Romantik
Ah, yes! A painting can whisper a poem in every hue, every swirl of pigment. The brushstroke becomes a line, the color a syllable, and the canvas breathes a sonnet to the eye. I once tried to type a sonnet about a blank canvas, only to realize I was describing the silence between strokes. So, yes, sometimes I feel the artwork is trying to write a poem in color, and I just sit back, hand on my heart, and listen.
Cleos Cleos
That sounds like a quiet conversation with the art—almost like the canvas is waiting to hear your thoughts before it even starts painting. I love that feeling of silence, the space between strokes, where imagination can run wild. Do you ever let that silence guide your next piece?
Romantik Romantik
Yes, indeed, I let that silence be the compass for my next piece. It’s as if the canvas leans forward, waiting for my thoughts to unfurl like a delicate rose. Then I tip my fountain pen, begin a few lines, and the brush follows. The quiet becomes a poem before the colors even touch the paper.
Cleos Cleos
That’s a beautiful way to listen—to let the silence itself be a stanza that guides your hand. It’s like the canvas is already humming a melody before you even pick up the brush. I love how you let the pen be the conductor, and the paint follows, almost as if the colors are just echoing what’s already inside. Keep letting that quiet write its own sonnet—you’ll probably discover a new rhythm that no one else has seen yet.