David Jackson

"Jackson" aka “David Michael Jackson" is an engineer, an artist, a poet and musician. I'm him. Some internet guy. I am an internet publisher of Artvilla.com and Motherbird.com ...... His art can be rescued at Original art for sale by artist...... Contact me about art poetry and music and YOU.....This site is not about me......It's about the fine work my dear departed friend, Summer Breeze did for poetry and peace, which I'm trying to continue, for as long as some semblance of freedom and peace exist..... namaste

How to Paint Like the Masters

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“Historically, imitating someone else’s work was part of forming your own style, but it wasn’t a way to make your own work. The imitation of subject matter, though, was part and parcel of the humbler genres of documentary art–still lifes, landscapes, portraits. The pinnacle of artistic production was instead what they called history painting, and this involved imagining scenes from mythology, history, or the Bible; how one imagined was supposed to depend on the canon of previous imaginings. Artists who practiced history painting shaped their approach by emulating other artists, whether contemporaries or the ancients. That’s how I’ve trained myself over more than thirty years, by drawing in museums, churches, and the great houses of Europe……..Artists Network

Our friends at Artvilla have started a series of video pages on how to paint like the masters. “Good artists copy, great artists steal”….Attributed to Picasso…..Art is a trade, a guild. One must learn any trade from the masters of that trade., This was true in the High Italian Renaissance and it’s true today.

Back to Art Lessons
How to Paint Like Monet
How to Paint Like Picasso
How to Paint Like Vincent Van Gogh
How to Paint Like Renoir
How to Paint Like Rembrandt
How to Paint Like Vermeer
How to Paint Like Jackson Pollock
How to Draw Like Michelangelo
How to Draw in the Renaissance Style

The Sick Muse | Poem by Charles Baudelaire

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The Sick Muse Poem 

………………. by Charles Baudelaire

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My impoverished muse, alas! What have you for me this morning?
Your empty eyes are stocked with nocturnal visions,
In your cheek’s cold and taciturn reflection,
I see insanity and horror forming.

The green succubus and the red urchin,
Have they poured you fear and love from their urns?
The nightmare of a mutinous fist that despotically turns,
Does it drown you at the bottom of a loch beyond searching?

I wish that your breast exhaled the scent of sanity,
That your womb of thought was not a tomb more frequently
And that your Christian blood flowed around a buoy that was rhythmical,

Like the numberless sounds of antique syllables,
Where reigns in turn the father of songs,
Phoebus, and the great Pan, the harvest sovereign.

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Charles Baudelaire – Wikipedia

Charles Baudelaire – Poet | Academy of American Poets

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We hope you enjoyed the The Sick Muse Poem by Charles Baudelaire

In heaven Poem

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In heaven | Poem by Stephen Crane

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In heaven,
Some little blades of grass
Stood before God.

“What did you do?”
Then all save one of the little blades
Began eagerly to relate
The merits of their lives.

This one stayed a small way behind,
Ashamed.

Presently, God said,
“And what did you do?”
The little blade answered, “Oh my Lord,
Memory is bitter to me,
For, if I did good deeds,
I know not of them.
“
Then God, in all His splendor,
Arose from His throne.

“Oh, best little blade of grass!” He said.

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Stephen Crane – Poet | Academy of American Poets

Stephen Crane – Wikipedia

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Behold the grave of a wicked man Poem

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Behold the grave of a wicked man | Poem by Stephen Crane

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Behold, the grave of a wicked man,
And near it, a stern spirit.

There came a drooping maid with violets,
But the spirit grasped her arm.

“No flowers for him,” he said.

The maid wept:
“Ah, I loved him.
“
But the spirit, grim and frowning:
“No flowers for him.
“

Now, this is it —
If the spirit was just,
Why did the maid weep?

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Stephen Crane – Poet | Academy of American Poets

Stephen Crane – Wikipedia

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An Autumn Rain Scene Poem

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An Autumn Rain-Scene | Poem by Thomas Hardy

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There trudges one to a merry-making
With sturdy swing,
On whom the rain comes down.

To fetch the saving medicament
Is another bent,
On whom the rain comes down.

One slowly drives his herd to the stall
Ere ill befall,
On whom the rain comes down.

This bears his missives of life and death
With quickening breath,
On whom the rain comes down.

One watches for signals of wreck or war
From the hill afar,
On whom the rain comes down.

No care if he gain a shelter or none,
Unhired moves on,
On whom the rain comes down.

And another knows nought of its chilling fall
Upon him aat all,
On whom the rain comes down.

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Thomas Hardy – Poet | Academy of American Poets

Thomas Hardy – Wikipedia

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I saw a man pursuing the horizon Poem

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I saw a man pursuing the horizon | Poem by Stephen Crane

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I saw a man pursuing the horizon;
Round and round they sped.

I was disturbed at this;
I accosted the man.

“It is futile,” I said,
“You can never -“

“You lie,” he cried,
And ran on.

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Stephen Crane – Poet | Academy of American Poets

Stephen Crane – Wikipedia

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I Saw a Chapel Poem

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I Saw a Chapel | Poem by William Blake

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I saw a chapel all of gold
That none did dare to enter in,
And many weeping stood without,
Weeping, mourning, worshipping.

I saw a serpent rise between
The white pillars of the door,
And he forc’d and forc’d and forc’d,
Down the golden hinges tore.

And along the pavement sweet,
Set with pearls and rubies bright,
All his slimy length he drew
Till upon the altar white

Vomiting his poison out
On the bread and on the wine.

So I turn’d into a sty
And laid me down among the swine.

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William Blake – Poet | Academy of American Poets

William Blake – Wikipedia

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I Rose Up at the Dawn of Day Poem

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I Rose Up at the Dawn of Day | Poem by William Blake

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I rose up at the dawn of day–
`Get thee away! get thee away!
Pray’st thou for riches? Away! away!
This is the Throne of Mammon grey.
‘

Said I: This, sure, is very odd;
I took it to be the Throne of God.

For everything besides I have:
It is only for riches that I can crave.

I have mental joy, and mental health,
And mental friends, and mental wealth;
I’ve a wife I love, and that loves me;
I’ve all but riches bodily.

I am in God’s presence night and day,
And He never turns His face away;
The accuser of sins by my side doth stand,
And he holds my money-bag in his hand.

For my worldly things God makes him pay,
And he’d pay for more if to him I would pray;
And so you may do the worst you can do;
Be assur’d, Mr.
Devil, I won’t pray to you.

Then if for riches I must not pray,
God knows, I little of prayers need say;
So, as a church is known by its steeple,
If I pray it must be for other people.

He says, if I do not worship him for a God,
I shall eat coarser food, and go worse shod;
So, as I don’t value such things as these,
You must do, Mr.
Devil, just as God please.

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William Blake – Poet | Academy of American Poets

William Blake – Wikipedia

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