…the art is a certainty the possibility is that the soul exists like a universe of emotions.
The painting is its probability so as the artist is…
in art BLUENIGHT
THE ARTIST AND HIS ART
Bluenight Overview
THE ARTIST’S PROBABILITY
The thought is set by the artist’s probability by the spacetime, giving life to two binomials world-being and artist-art, which is overfed by the anthropological wavelengths and in the interval of time.
the artist’s probability
in art BLUENIGHT
THE WORK OF ART IN THE EXPRESSION OF THE ARTIST
Declaring the painting with the expression of the artist, adding vitality to whomever contemplates it with their story, both the remote past and the next future, to get to a probability.
It is framed by life, which is studded with roads by its intersections made by choices. A deception that is born into my mind, a clear image of the artwork, a potential object fixed into time and real space, turns in the probability into the quantum leap, to be a simple point fixed by the energy; diffusing the possible directions to the countless trajectories characterised by the individual, each observer who creates the undulatory probability within a determined wave-length with the instant.
The dimension defined by the perception that comes from an energetic state of the emotions released from the memories, living into a determinate emotion.
the painting with the expression of the artist
in art BLUENIGHT
An only artwork is painted by a single person who is the artist, but it is fragmented into more places and times, in more parallel universes; for this purpose, there is no observational investigation but a probability of the existence, of an emotional sensation, mood alive and lived in countless ways and further emotions.
artwork
in art BLUENIGHT
WHAT THE ARTIST THINKS
How the artist thinks and what and how the artist has lived for. Simply absorbing all around him into a beckoning, a colour, a word, the artist can set up the time, space and dimension on an instant’s reality.
Whereby, up to dragging this new reality on the canvas to set that out into a language, unique and understandable he will look as primitive and foreign before people’s eyes; for the latter aren’t used to such concepts as an ordinary living.
No doubts, answers and replies up to an x spot, an x moment so as an x day means that I live, for I must live.
dragging this new reality on the canvas
♫March, 2019
in art BLUENIGHT ♫
ULYSSES
The artist lives for the reason that he has been called to live and to give all that a new meaning.
The people are the ordinary reality while the artist, the ordinary madness, makes up a concept to smuggle in what people don’t want. Working on that way the artist becomes an explorer of the mazes of the mind, looking into a sailor and its ship turn into a body, the sea its madness and the wind its soul. As Ulysses tries to come back home, every single day, reading into each and every gesture left along the air, colours, gazes, moods, gestures, tones, words, blue nights, noises, signs, contacts… …as a reality immersed in other ones, people in other ones and places in other ones Ulysses opens wide and rummages through all these possibilities up to coming to his beloved’s home.
coming to his beloved’s home
♫March, 2019
in art BLUENIGHT ♫
LIFE IMITATING ART
I bluenight who makes drunk words, a petty thief that wants only to live the probability, as Catholic as a sinner one meant, and a solver christened by God.
Reckoned as clandestine in this world where he swaps thoughts, feelings, colours and space-time for new cultural knowledge, living on people’s stories, I am bluenight, the Holy Grail of art.
drunk words
♫March, 2019
in art BLUENIGHT ♫
THE PLACE OF PAINTING THE ARTIST
My remembrances drive and hold me on this dreamless sea, the old places around Bologna, Dublin, Amsterdam, Prague, Wien, places where bluenight met people that can give bluenight a dream for tomorrow, and to remember all flavours uttered into the half words, broken only through the gazes.
The unforgettable remembrances give some dust to the stars all over the sky to tell yourself, “I am alive”.
the unforgettable remembrances
in art BLUENIGHT
LADY’S LOVERS
The watch moves the time without noise, playing the words; the waiting for a new day to spend with her.Unique beloved, unique name that is without day as well as night, it is an only time void of watches. Yet, the lady who whispers among the words scattered into the air through her passage, by virtue of her gaudy dress of hope, which makes all hope for an amorous meeting.
the lady who whispers
in art BLUENIGHT
AN AMOROUS MEETING
Where the night is the time of the dreams floating into hopes, painted with the ignorance of not knowing the answers; and already, in spite of this, it is her biggest weakness, as to make her as beautiful as fascinating in the movements as in the form, and in her phrases as well.
Lovers kindle themselves, like the lights of the night, suddenly the free movements become an eternal run as well as a frantic race, in search of creating a new dress to wear on the dawn of a new day.
The lights light up the brief stars flying into the sky – they are the lovers – small people afflicted by her ignorance as well as studded with ever-changing questions that escape with her crossing …. who is she… what does she want… where is she going … with regard to her there is the ignorance of observing every small particular, as an echo of doubts that is always hungry for the answers to find into the judgement of the history of events.
He who knows, independently from this, will never be able to savour the energy of colours warmed by the air that is emanated from her. He gazes at an only object to judge it, in spite of this, he goes on without the interest to know about her before as well as after.
It is only an unaddressed present. With a view to making the dress arid in the depriving of her space and time; he does not go beyond it, he knows, he is not afflicted by ignorance, he is, in fact, only a point on a straight line without a vector – he knows.
creating a new dress to wear on the dawn of a new day
in art BLUENIGHT
A GALLANT INVITATION
Only the lovers, who are burnt by the kiss of her charm full of ignorance, build the knowledge to connect the questions with the answers, all this to have a gallant invitation from their own beloved. What with the hoping that the lady is able to show her dress impregnating with their sentiment full of thoughts into the cloth, like the desires alive with the dreams, coloured by the lady’s face, maybe she will reveal her own name, some day, for her lovers.
The lady’s lover always hopes that she will wear her dress and it will be forever.
burnt by the kiss of her charm full of ignorance
♫March, 2019
in art BLUENIGHT ♫
RHYTHM IN ART
the space is directly proportional to the time…
Bluenight’s tale in verse
As a mirror reduced to fragments is a fractal universe, to where its unit is placed as the artist’s life
PLACELESSNESS AND TIMELESS
SCRIBBLING
THE SEA
bluenight’s script
TIME
the artist and his art
The clock is dumb
while the hours are singing
and the seconds are riding the days
– only a time brimming with its sighing –
while we are dragging each other,
there are the seconds like tides riding the next days,
a better day,
I am in you,
you said once,
and thus I am.
A desert of words speaks of something far off and near,
but now I do not remember anymore;
I am not here, here, but where are you?,
and where will you be?
Like a clock is in its hurry of tomorrow,
a blow from breaking the desert’s sensations,
a blow – perhaps –
from speaking to the corner of a corner without words,
I am on your sea shore,
your glance,
as the jingle sea of the clock singing
– a unique certainty –
and still the sound of your heart persists into me.
Still that blow, for me, for you.
Together we stay well into the night beneath our blankets,
from the flying of some instants of our breaths,
only a blown kiss into one second, giving life.
Bluenight’s tale in verse
in art BLUENIGHT
SCRIBBLING
THE SEA
bluenight’s script
ARTIST’S PLACES
A SHORTMOMENT
the artist and his art
what is time?,
if not a moment,
a frosty dew loosens at dawn,
at a simple beckoning to the world
before sleep,
what is time?,
if not a word,
there,
a river of words burnt into a moment,
like an intense blow,
in the night,
speaks of our sighs,
the sighed moments of dawn tread
our whispers,
yet more dreams dropping on our words,
streets without alleys,
only the signs of a moment without clocks,
and without water
from a dew that makes us warm
in the night,
what is time?
inartBLUENIGHT
PLACES
I do not know about places,
time,
doors,
not known yet;
a crunch of silences overruns
the days’ river,
where the night
with its golden candles
and its velvety white scent runs
after the sun,
the dawn will be born anew,
and by the pockets the violins of words
made insubstantial,
it lights up tomorrow’s flames,
and a violin hidden among the words,
as a flowing silence,
writing down
new places thrown there
by this moving time of images and by the door handle;
to spin the clock of the walls,
a clock without its hands,
without a place,
a night inside a day, as a kiss torn into the wind
through a storm,
to weaken the desire, I am whispering it to you.
Bluenight’s tale in verse
in art BLUENIGHT
SCRIBBLING
THE SEA
bluenight’s script
PLACES
the artist and his art
I do not know about places,
time,
doors,
not known yet;
a crunch of silences overruns
the days’ river,
where the night
with its golden candles
and its velvety white scent runs
after the sun,
the dawn will be born anew,
and by the pockets the violins of words
made insubstantial,
it lights up tomorrow’s flames,
and a violin hidden among the words,
as a flowing silence,
writing down
new places thrown there
by this moving time of images and by the door handle;
to spin the clock of the walls,
a clock without its hands,
without a place,
a night inside a day, as a kiss torn into the wind
through a storm,
to weaken the desire, I am whispering it to you.
Bluenight’s tale in verse
in art BLUENIGHT
SCRIBBLING
THE SEA
bluenight’s script
THE STAGE OF THE ARTIST
ANOTHER NIGHT
the artist and his art
another night is there,
here is the account,
in its flowing ahead,
a simple thinking rounds the edges
of the nuances;
the places,
softly imaginary spaces,
the brief spaces of imagination,
as a carving-out into the framed branches,
like slices,
they go sticking around among the thoughts;
the random words, floating,
like the night among the stars,
write down the gust of the winds,
another night has become the day,
another day has become the night.
Bluenight’s tale in verse
in art BLUENIGHT
SCRIBBLING
THE SEA
bluenight’s script
THE SCRIPT OF THE ARTIST
It means that the space will crush more and more the time which will stretch to grow up.
Bluenight’s tale in verse
space and time within and without the artist
in art BLUENIGHT
THE ARTIST’S PAINTING SCRIPT
some life only to meet others, it’s a road but it’s not, so that’s life,
ῥειν
Φ 1.618
THE PLACE
THE STAGE OF THE ARTIST
π 3,141
ἐντόϛ
so walking bluenight is in search of answers, about new sources, and new words too,
now a new walk bluenight is waiting for, and has got all door keys but that sky’s.
BLUENIGHT’S SCRIPT
THE ARTIST’S EXPRESSION
on another side, on another corner, and another side space.
♖♖
BLUENIGHT
⚅
THE STAGE OF THE ARTIST
♖♖
BLUENIGHT