AlexEsk - Hello Poetry

I often lose myself in doodles, sketches, and drawings... Trying to replicate great works but more often originals of my own creation. But when I do try to replicate a work from lets say Monet or Van Gogh its because a piece stood out to me and the image lingers in the back of my mind like a shadow cast by a single lit candle in room as vast as the universe itself... https://postimg.cc/kBGGjwPr <---- What I've done so far compared to the original found in the Norton Simon Museum in Pasadena California... I believe whole heartedly that the eyes in this painting belong not to the peasant but to Van Gogh himself... Either intentionally or not the piercing stare will forever be burned in my mind.

0

Apr 18

Apr 18, 2026 at 4:52 PM UTC

Portrait of a Peasant (Patience Escalier) August 1888

I often lose myself in doodles, sketches, and drawings... Trying to replicate great works but more often originals of my own creation. But when I do try to replicate a work from lets say Monet or Van Gogh its because a piece stood out to me and the image lingers in the back of my mind like a shadow cast by a single lit candle in room as vast as the universe itself... https://postimg.cc/kBGGjwPr <---- What I've done so far compared to the original found in the Norton Simon Museum in Pasadena California... I believe whole heartedly that the eyes in this painting belong not to the peasant but to Van Gogh himself... Either intentionally or not the piercing stare will forever be burned in my mind.

3

The light casts a shadow It’s in the darkness when we truly see The magnificence of its shape… The genius of its form Perfection…a word that's seldom used correctly A concept that’s out of reach… Yet made by hands with all the flaws of humanity… David… a name as old as the stone itself... It looks on… Shying away from the angle from which I stand… A reminder to us all… For like man…the stone is cold… It takes a gentle hand to shape… Fragile and defiant…

0

Jan 25

Jan 25, 2026 at 6:16 PM UTC

Michelangelo's David

The light casts a shadow It’s in the darkness when we truly see The magnificence of its shape… The genius of its form Perfection…a word that's seldom used correctly A concept that’s out of reach… Yet made by hands with all the flaws of humanity… David… a name as old as the stone itself... It looks on… Shying away from the angle from which I stand… A reminder to us all… For like man…the stone is cold… It takes a gentle hand to shape… Fragile and defiant…

13

It appears with time A reminder and promise of our mortality Lines that tell a tale of experience

0

Jan 25

Jan 25, 2026 at 6:16 PM UTC

Lines of age

It appears with time A reminder and promise of our mortality Lines that tell a tale of experience

3

With each lie a crack forms... Each act of deceit...a fragment lost I am far from the hands of God But my fingers feel pain A pain that's all to familiar... All that's left are tears... But unlike everything else you've taken...they are mine And alas no amount will quench your thirst.

0

Jan 25

Jan 25, 2026 at 6:15 PM UTC

For the tears are mine alone

With each lie a crack forms... Each act of deceit...a fragment lost I am far from the hands of God But my fingers feel pain A pain that's all to familiar... All that's left are tears... But unlike everything else you've taken...they are mine And alas no amount will quench your thirst.

8

When man runs without a path He’ll only face the devil’s wrath And when he runs without light The further he’ll travel from God’s true sight He’ll find himself alone one day All to late…he’s lost his way The Lord's name he'll take in vain For truly now his faith will wane And when he falls to his knees On the field beneath the trees His last breath is what he'll take For the path he lost was his mistake

0

Jan 8

Jan 8, 2026 at 6:15 PM UTC

The Path

When man runs without a path He’ll only face the devil’s wrath And when he runs without light The further he’ll travel from God’s true sight He’ll find himself alone one day All to late…he’s lost his way The Lord's name he'll take in vain For truly now his faith will wane And when he falls to his knees On the field beneath the trees His last breath is what he'll take For the path he lost was his mistake

12

Splintered wood upon the mast With shame like waves on oceans vast The wind calls out to be heard Truth or lies? They have been blurred A horrid sound… a putrid taste The wine that touched the lips was laced Leave it to an unnamed name Fingers pointed to the one to blame

0

Dec 30, 2025

Dec 30, 2025 at 5:54 PM UTC

Deciete

Splintered wood upon the mast With shame like waves on oceans vast The wind calls out to be heard Truth or lies? They have been blurred A horrid sound… a putrid taste The wine that touched the lips was laced Leave it to an unnamed name Fingers pointed to the one to blame

8

An artist’s mark can be found on most pieces… it being a name, initials, and/or some form of stamp or mark… Linking the creation to the creator… Van Gogh is no exception to this rule... His name can be found on many of his pieces yet I feel a more predominant mark has been hidden in plain sight… Van Gogh’s self-portrait (1889 – Blue) clearly shows the fatigued and sickly look in his eyes… eyes that are as identical to Portrait of a Peasant (Patience Escalier – 1888). Van Gogh’s subjects were used many times and in many variations of ways and angles. Portrait of a Peasant is such a piece... The shape and look of the eyes vary dramatically. But the almost carbon copy of the shape, look, and sadness from Portrait of a Peasant and Van Gogh’s self-portrait can't just be coincidence. I believe that Van Gogh either drew it unintentionally and as sad as it might seem unconsciously. Both of which I feel were a clear cry for help by a man who struggled with what obviously depression. Van Gogh’s portrait of his mother also has similar eyes. Leonardo da Vinci and William Shakespear both said, “eyes are the window to the soul” and in Van Gogh’s case one that was filled with torment, loneliness, and a need for belonging. Far be it from me to criticize anyone who does not agree with my synopsis of such things nor do I consider myself an expert in such matters, but the lightbulb in my head flickers quite often when looking over Vincent’s paintings. The truth might never come to light and my opinion on the matter might be nothing more than one trying to make sense of the senseless. Trying in the most obvious way coping with the idea that a talent such as this was cut short in what possibly was the incline of his artistic career.

0

Jun 1, 2025

Jun 1, 2025 at 6:47 PM UTC

The eyes of Van Gogh

An artist’s mark can be found on most pieces… it being a name, initials, and/or some form of stamp or mark… Linking the creation to the creator… Van Gogh is no exception to this rule... His name can be found on many of his pieces yet I feel a more predominant mark has been hidden in plain sight… Van Gogh’s self-portrait (1889 – Blue) clearly shows the fatigued and sickly look in his eyes… eyes that are as identical to Portrait of a Peasant (Patience Escalier – 1888). Van Gogh’s subjects were used many times and in many variations of ways and angles. Portrait of a Peasant is such a piece... The shape and look of the eyes vary dramatically. But the almost carbon copy of the shape, look, and sadness from Portrait of a Peasant and Van Gogh’s self-portrait can't just be coincidence. I believe that Van Gogh either drew it unintentionally and as sad as it might seem unconsciously. Both of which I feel were a clear cry for help by a man who struggled with what obviously depression. Van Gogh’s portrait of his mother also has similar eyes. Leonardo da Vinci and William Shakespear both said, “eyes are the window to the soul” and in Van Gogh’s case one that was filled with torment, loneliness, and a need for belonging. Far be it from me to criticize anyone who does not agree with my synopsis of such things nor do I consider myself an expert in such matters, but the lightbulb in my head flickers quite often when looking over Vincent’s paintings. The truth might never come to light and my opinion on the matter might be nothing more than one trying to make sense of the senseless. Trying in the most obvious way coping with the idea that a talent such as this was cut short in what possibly was the incline of his artistic career.

5

Conviction and honesty…both of which seems to be seldom found in modern day. Long gone are the days of Starry Night and Salvator Mundi. The authenticity and childlike excitement of creating and moreover discovering such pieces has fade to a world beyond stars and imagination. In its absence we find degeneracy on such an unapologetic level that it’s almost humorous the level of ignorance that surrounds it…almost. The monumental mark that artists like Van Gogh, Monet, and Renoir left behind have and will continue to be something that we should all strive for regardless of whatever niche or pocket we find ourselves. The fear of being the nail that sticks out has created such an overwhelming presence that we have all been hammered to a point were true creation is almost nonexistent. Every time religion, a political agenda, or an authoritative power or state interjects the artists strokes faulter and the vision is blurred or all together fades to black. Leave it to man to forcibly remove the colors of life. One by one until all that’s left is a world of perpetual gray. And when the dust settles and the footprint of man all but disappears who or what will be left to appreciate the few moments where art outshined the darkness that we see in our day to day?

0

Apr 24, 2025

Apr 24, 2025 at 8:03 PM UTC

I hope art endures...

Conviction and honesty…both of which seems to be seldom found in modern day. Long gone are the days of Starry Night and Salvator Mundi. The authenticity and childlike excitement of creating and moreover discovering such pieces has fade to a world beyond stars and imagination. In its absence we find degeneracy on such an unapologetic level that it’s almost humorous the level of ignorance that surrounds it…almost. The monumental mark that artists like Van Gogh, Monet, and Renoir left behind have and will continue to be something that we should all strive for regardless of whatever niche or pocket we find ourselves. The fear of being the nail that sticks out has created such an overwhelming presence that we have all been hammered to a point were true creation is almost nonexistent. Every time religion, a political agenda, or an authoritative power or state interjects the artists strokes faulter and the vision is blurred or all together fades to black. Leave it to man to forcibly remove the colors of life. One by one until all that’s left is a world of perpetual gray. And when the dust settles and the footprint of man all but disappears who or what will be left to appreciate the few moments where art outshined the darkness that we see in our day to day?

6

The light casts a shadow It’s in the darkness that we truly see The magnificence of its shape… The genius of its form Perfection…a word that's seldom used correctly A concept that’s out of reach… Yet made by hands with all the flaws of humanity… David… a name as old as the stone itself... It looks on… Shying away from the angle from which I stand… A reminder to us all… For like man…the stone is cold… It takes a gentle hand to shape… Like man… fragile and defiant…

0

Mar 9, 2025

Mar 9, 2025 at 3:32 PM UTC

Michelangelo's David

The light casts a shadow It’s in the darkness that we truly see The magnificence of its shape… The genius of its form Perfection…a word that's seldom used correctly A concept that’s out of reach… Yet made by hands with all the flaws of humanity… David… a name as old as the stone itself... It looks on… Shying away from the angle from which I stand… A reminder to us all… For like man…the stone is cold… It takes a gentle hand to shape… Like man… fragile and defiant…

13

The candle sits The wax untouched, unfamiliar to its purpose Like man... created to one day fade. The wick gets lit… And the dance begins The flame starts small but grows Burns with desire, a warmth unmatched It dances. As if for me and no one else Unwavering… With such beauty that words fall short I gaze… my eyes fixated They start to burn I blink… but the flame is gone The smoke it’s ghost The smell a reminder of what once was It was perfect… if only for a moment

0

Jun 11, 2024

Jun 11, 2024 at 6:51 PM UTC

If only for a moment

The candle sits The wax untouched, unfamiliar to its purpose Like man... created to one day fade. The wick gets lit… And the dance begins The flame starts small but grows Burns with desire, a warmth unmatched It dances. As if for me and no one else Unwavering… With such beauty that words fall short I gaze… my eyes fixated They start to burn I blink… but the flame is gone The smoke it’s ghost The smell a reminder of what once was It was perfect… if only for a moment

15