There is at the foundation of any artistic life the need to express something regardless the form of art that this “something” is expressed through.
In ancient times, art was dedicated to the gods; painting, carving, music and poetry had that task deep within their function.
So there is in art a magic and divine power.
It is indeed these attribute that helped Orpheus with only his musical instrument and his voice to put asleep the cerebra.
Modernity does not take out the magic sense and enchanting power of art.
If we listen to Mozart’s requiem, we can feel deep within us that power.
Even if we do not paint for the same reasons, even though the gods of today have surpassed those of the past,
somethings in art are still unchanged. It is not defined by success, but by talent.
Bob Marley used to say that “I did not wait for success to know that my music was right”
Talent is the measure at the heart and the spirit of the artist.
The artist is a powerful catalyst of an energy that has to be given a form that our mind and our heart can digest.
Talent is made out of generosity.
Talent is the deep fertility of time in an artist’s life.
The depth of talent does not always comes from the tranquility of existence.
To those who the universe has given a lot, it asks a lot in return from them.
This is particularly the case with Beethoven, despite his growing deafness with the years, he had to find his way to continue composing to overcome the barrier that his disability was posing.
So there is something in every human being that is bigger than their life, that is more important than all the worries linked to the modern life.
The artists are certainly the most sensitive to it because they devote their whole lives to it.
That thing, I call it the seed of the universe. We are the dust of the stars, as such, each one of us carries within themselves a glimpse of the universe.
As the universe is always looking to manifest and to reveal itself, it gives to each one of us the ability to seize it.
It inspires us and impregnates us by the visit of the nine muses, Apsaras and infinite sources and circumstances of life to give us the means to express it.
It inspires us.
The inspiration and the artist are like a bedside lamp.
The electricity and the bulb of light represent the inspiration and the shade is the artist.
In order to let the light manifest itself in the world, the artist has to lower his ego and let the light passing through him.
We are just the messengers, never the message itself. We have to carry it with love.
Poetry in this matter had played a pivotal role in the ancient mythologies, past theogonies and so on.
Poetry was the transmission belt between immortals and mortals; it carried knowledge, wisdom and the will of the gods.
It is only with the ancient Greeks after the vehement criticism of Plato against Homer that poetry began to give way to philosophy.
But the need for poetry is much deeper in us than Plato wanted to afford it.
Poetry is an emotional understanding of the reality.
If Oedipus had been a poet, he would have maybe felt in a better way the inconvenience of his life…
Poetry is a gift. It is a gift of words.
It is not a clever play with words, but a deep and intimate discovery of the hidden meaning of life in words.
Whatever the gift! Whatever the talent!
There is nothing more illusory than a talent or a gift which is not shared.
Poetry itself does not walk away easily from that.
What is whispered through poetry, what is drawn with words as poem were meant to be shared.
Poetry that stays on the shelves of one’s heart is like a sun that will never rise, that will never bring the light, that will never know the day.
There is no sun in such poetry.
Poems that can not cross the dam of one’s lips are just like a dried out waterfall,
with no foam, no water crashing from the height, with no rainbow to display.
These poems are without colours. They are therefore not a rainbow.
Through poetry, through poems, we share life. We are not afraid of dreaming.
Dreaming about men, about tomorrow, about our children, about our friends, about diversity, about being a human.
As human beings, we are all like lands which give to others what time
has blessed it with. In doing so, we are receiving from the other too.
What time will provide them with to fertilize our arid lands; lands not yet arable somewhere within us, but yet lands full of promise.
In that respect, to have a gift is being seeded by the universe itself, it is to carry it within ourselves, to find a beautiful way to let it shine in the world and reveal itself. It is being a seed of light.
Moreover, we were not seeded with the same seed, so that we still need other seeds to complete the work of the universe within us and within others.
We can write. We can paint. We can sing. We can dance.
But we can not all perform, all the gifts that the universe possess.
Poetry will always live side by side with music. Even though poetry is music within music.