#transform#hibernation#iconography#wod#pod /Quotations/ Disclaimer : I have cited quotations and dialogues in this series, without which this would be incomplete. I would say, I attempted an entangled collab/ Maybe I'll delete this series someday... (~_~;) Rest written rights reserved 10 May 2021 1.51 pm
[The end of Van Gogh series ,Thank you, those who read ! I don't know what I accomplished, but I feel satisfied ]
Vincent's Butterflies ~
Vincent found solace in the lap of nature. With his neon tinted vision, he found the thin blades of green grass as soft as a velvet veil to thorny thoughts. He found the branches of fir trees as comfortable as a cradle to his clammy mind. He found the endless wheat fields as serene as a prayer house to his ailing soul.
/ "painting promises color " , as soothing as music /
He transformed what soothed himself into art and what better cocoon to his caterpillar than the world of colors. So he immersed himself in those hues in hopes of metamorphosis to butterfly, as soothing to soul like music.
Hopeful hues in his Butterfly series evoked rays of faith reflected by bright rhythmic brush strokes. Fascinated with butterflies since an infant, he saw those fragile lives as a symbol of fervent hope.
Metaphors perched on the branches of chaos inside his head, screamed at him the innate potential of life for metamorphosis.
/ Unknown transformation of grubs into beetles Cocoons that transform caterpillars to butterflies Assuming existence of colors in another life-space Hopefully affirms the altered existence of painter-butterflies /
He painted twin butterflies with white delicate wings whispering wishes to green coated grass, delighted in the daydreams of a dainty day. / A symbol of 'freedom and foreboding '/
He also painted 'Butterflies and Poppies' with 'bright colored layers of oil on canvas that gave a textile-like feel'. How his hopelessly hopeful mind could differentiate colors and give them a characteristic of nature is extraordinary.
Even his blooms had a veil of gloom And his hope had an inevitable slope He roamed freely in the valleys of death Disappeared like a butterfly devoid of breath
/ He wondered about fallen angels of women " She is seeking, seeking, seeking -- does she herself know what? Might she be transformed one day like a grub into a butterfly?" /
Today, a dainty day in the month of May, 2021, I seek a shadow of hope in the wailing greenery and wilting sunflowers. I imagine a sea of poppies in the barren field across my balcony and wish for a monsoon that could fulfill my daydreams. I wonder whether such a monsoon will ever arrive and welcome a swarm of butterflies - a kaleidoscope of hope Yet the nature makes me ponder again of possible potentials of a drought land of my mind. Some of those summer showers surprised me with blossoms of gulmohar in the lone tree in my vicinity. Maybe some verses could transform me into a butterfly too. A poet can hope.
One such day in the month of May, 1889, Vincent spotted a rare nocturnal moth called death's head. The painting was titled 'Green Peacock Moth' but Vincent self-titled it as 'Deaths Head Moth'. Its linked wings were bleak black and grey splashes of murky cloud-like shape with white tinges and vague shades of olive green. The vivid colors and the intensity of passion is obviously visible from the enlarged size of the moth and the plants in the backdrop. The 'lords-and-ladies' in the background symbolize copulation of man and woman. A cluster of bright red cherries are characteristic of female flower which remain when leaves start withering in Autumn. Perhaps these poisonous berries symbolizes the existence of evil in the world, the blooms the attraction of human nature and the moth a symbol of looming death. Yet its the depiction of a delicate life, a transformed life, a FULFILLED Life.
/ Did those butterflies inspire 'a troubled soul to survive' Or did the emperor moth lure in his soul like a siren /
He was a pupa of painter A chrysalis of creativity A butterfly of art/artist And a moth of insanity
He was that 'Existential Butterfly', a caterpillar that hibernate in the cocoon of colors, only to wake up as a ' Lost Butterfly'
Noted all the points, I'm sure they'll help me and everyone else who reads this, become a better writer. And oh, 'most of the unique ideas manifest during the creative process rather than in mental epiphanies', damn yeah, that line hit me real hard. It's so very true and something I've been realising gradually; you legit put it into a perfect sentence!
And a special thanks for the last point. It's just, pure gold. I'll keep that in mind, always. :)
You've been a true source of inspiration for me, here. Your kind words mean a lot. I'm so grateful.
Betwixt tangled insipid routines Often walking backwards in chronology As world dwelling upon rushing ahead Belligerence becoming new cliché With fallen debris of metaphors burning Grinding consciousness amid chaotic times A euphoric sojourn one tends to find, Deprived from concurrent absurdity And derived by moments of pristine serene Flowing with unbridled generosity, Pampering properly this soul within To rejuvenate self from forced insanity, Defined by ludicrous codes that don't exist I create hibernation with some lucid Lenity Whimsical musings they go dormant As skin emancipates to feel zephyr of truth Anesthesia applied through poetries With my words caressing all cicatrix Fallen mythical creatures, i believe in one too, Phoenixes they rest in ashes eventually Only to revamp with same burning allegories To carve the end for new beginnings Betwixt tangled insipid routines unending Often walking backwards in chronology I create hibernation with some lucid felicity Along the lines of reclusivness i cherish
Wintry wind freezing my muse ,thoughts and notions flaking , Smog of numbness disparaged my fanciful sky, Pine tree's dusted snow on unspoken words Buried them in grave, Cloud engulfed my stimulating sun wholly, Struggling to feed my soul with some morsels of inspiration, Frosty milieu sheathed my artistic pen , Ink choking and losing it's beats persistently, Asking to take the path of hibernation.