William Michaelian

Poems, Notes, and Drawings

Tag Archive for ‘Art’

In Memory of Laura Tedeschi

I read today of the passing of the artist Laura Tedeschi. She died April 4, 2018. I didn’t know. In 2010, Laura surprised me by painting my portrait. Quite by chance, after she’d shared it online, it arrived from Vienna on my birthday. On the back of the frame, Laura had written, “Lo Scrittore,” along with my name. The painting has been on display here in my library and work […]

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Dostoevsky and Van Gogh

Having fortunately lived long enough to finish reading all three volumes of Vincent’s letters, I have moved on to Dostoevsky’s Diary of a Writer, in Boris Brasol’s English translation, published in two volumes by Charles Scribner’s Sons in 1949. After years of being away from Dostoevsky’s great novels and stories, coming upon him in the somewhat more casual, conversational mode of his periodical writings is much like having coffee with […]

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The Mad Artist

Fifteen years. Do I really remember this, or does this remember me? . The Mad Artist Yesterday I was waiting at a light when a mad artist quickly sketched a little girl in front of me in the crosswalk. The girl looked up and gave me the prettiest, craziest smile — a smile of freedom and recognition. I replied with a silly grin. This made her eyes shine, even brighter […]

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The Ghost in You

The Ghost in You

              How strange — I feel cold, almost as if I were alive.        “That, my friend, is the ghost in you.”                                             Songs and Letters, September 30, 2008 [ 828 ]

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Canvas 419 — I Wonder

Canvas 419 — August 23, 2014

  I Wonder After a long absence, they began to fear for him, and so they sought him in the cave where he sometimes slept. He was not there; but they found a striking image of him which seemed to have etched itself onto one of the walls, where at certain times of the year water would seep through and trickle down. They gazed upon the image for a long […]

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St. Rémy

May 1889. Vincent has just entered the asylum at St. Rémy. Or have I entered it in July 2020? I close my eyes. Careful consideration yields no definite answer; rather, the image of a giant colorful moth is imprinted on the inside of my eyelids, very much in the way stars appear in the night sky. I paint the moth; I paint the sky; and, while painting, I wonder how […]

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Self-Portrait in White

The third volume of Vincent’s letters. Yesterday afternoon, he cut off a piece of his ear. July 15, 2020   Self-Portrait in White A man and his donkey; a snowy field; a cart full of bones. The wind. Poems, Slightly Used, November 10, 2009 [ 807 ]

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Pantheon

Destroyers advertise themselves. They break down one’s door to get in. Makers must be found. They reveal themselves to seekers. Fortunate are they who go forth freely each morning, with no stone to drag, or that they must first roll away from their gloomy sepulcher. Fortunate are they who have a stone, and who know they have a stone. You have given it great thought. Do you now see that […]

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