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What is an "Artist"?

The meaning of of that word can be defined by the description of one man...Jean Nicholas Arthur Rimbaud...


He was merely sixteen years old when he wrote what is now considered his genius and ground breaking works of poetry. The impact of his work on modern culture, including the arts, music, literature, is truly amazing. He didn't write his poetry to become rich, or to impress the bourgeosie of his country, or to make people admire him. He wrote his poetry as an expression of his feelings only....during a time in his life when he was "discovering himself", and coming to terms with his sexuality, his manhood and trying to define for himself who he was. He was determined to discover himself, and in order to do that, he had to discover all aspects of the world, and he had to experience life.

In his time, much was written about this obnoxious, loud mouthed, filthy, child with a lack of moralistic values, who ruined his life and the lives of those around him. His work was termed immoral and obscene, so much so that his sister (after his death) tried to hide much of it from the public, but thanks to Paul Verlaine, that didn't happen.

His legacy is not only his inspirational work, but his unique and individual spirit, which is the spirit of a true artist. And I have always thought that it is that spirit that in many ways drives Leonardo, who bears much of the same criticism now that Rimbaud did then. The world frowns on those who don't conform, those who insist on being individuals, those who are true rebels. Leo was quoted as saying "playing Rimbaud changed me", and I believe it did. Rimbaud's spirit does exist, is still unique, individual, and aching to discover and experience EVERYTHING the world has to offer.






'Absinth.......two!'
Thanks Annabelle!


The green Fairy,
Once a medicine,
Soon persistent poison
with bitter taste.
Shortcut to madness
and death.
Apsinthion:
'Impossible to drink'
Yet, the poet's third eye.....








Fleurs \ Flowers

From a golden step - among cords of silk, grey gauzes, green velvets, and discs of crystal which darken like bronze in the sun -
I see the foxgloves opening on a carpet of silver filigree, of eyes, and of hair.

Coins of yellow gold sown on agate, columns of mahogany supporting a dome of emeralds, bunches of white satin
and of fine sprays of rubies
surround the water-rose.

Like a god with huge blue eyes and shapes of snow,
the sea and the sky draw to the marble terraces the throng of young vigorous roses.

Arthur Rimbaud,
Les Illuminations



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