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The Madness of the Artist
by
Lauren Turner
copyright 05-20-2009
Age Rating: 13 +
I feel ashes falling from the celing;
And it chokes, and it consumes,
My stories have become fuel,
My words fade and turn into
Nothing.
I feel so naked and scared,
I find comfort in the fire
I take my paintings
and renovate them to become
Nothing.
I don't feel as if I belong,
As if I'm really wanted,
My photos are tossed into hell,
I watch my memories become
Nothing.
My throat is scorched
My fingers are all burnt up
I cannot play my instrument
I create a burning symphony of
Nothing.
Soot covers my hands,
I don't mind the smell.
I fan the flames with my hands,
In order to burn them to
Nothing.
I watch my own kingdom burn
Through faded artist's eyes
A cracked smile forms in my face,
A smile echoing absolutely
Nothing.
I have destroyed my art,
I hear rain amongst the ash
It runs down my face
but I can feel
Nothing.
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Comments on this Article/Poem:
Click on the commenter's name to see their Author's Page
06-04-2011
Amanda Zurenda
All this work, all the blood, sweat, and tears. All for nothing. Because no matter how hard we try, nothing lasts forever. So why should it matter if I destroy it, as opposed to if it is destroyed by some other means?
I understand the feeling of frustration behind a lack of creativity, and I also understand the frustration behind wasted creativity. I really loved the style of this write and my heart ached with each 'nothing'. Very well done!
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11-27-2009
Frank Fields
How often have I felt this same way? How often have we all? Those of us whose creativity and talents are sometimes more of a cause for tears than celebration? All of us, I think.
Certainly, this work is so revealing of the agonies of the creative person's efforts. Especially when the talent or creativity isn't allowed to shine, as it should.
As I read this work, I saw myself and so many of the rest of us. Almost as if you had a finger on our heartbeats.
Outstanding writing and talent, Lauren. ^_^
Frank :)
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11-26-2009
synclaire232
My heart kept beating faster when I read the words, "Nothing" and my feelings reached out and I nod along in agreement. Thank you very much for the beautiful write.
Chermayn
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10-14-2009
Alan Reed
Lauren, I agree with Susan's suggestion but I believe you "almost get there" in describing the nothingness as ashes. You try and try and nothing but nothingness comes out. It IS a burning sensation and a sort of madness of the artist. It is part of the game. I like the theme, the throaty write and the courage to say it. -Alan :-)
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07-04-2009
Jordan Screws
This is an interesting commentary on the life of an artist. I do not know whether this deals with perfectionism of an obsessed artist or the ephemeral nature of art itself, and I will have to read it again to really determine it for myself. However, at first glance it leans towards the former. In today's world, every artist is only as good as their last work (music album, book, movie, etc.). To do any better and maintain a reputation of dazzling ability, they must one-up themselves each time.
All social commentary aside, I see a lot that supports the view of an artist's obsession with perfection driving him/her over the edge. The constant references to everything being turned to ashes in the hands of the artist were appropriate for one who goes all-out on everything, ever striving for the "perfect" work. This poem also has a powerful sense of melancholy: just when the artist thinks they have attained the long-sought perfection that they have sacrificed so much for, their product turns to ashes. Such is the sad reality for some people, and you summed up that feeling well. I know all too well that feeling: I have had a few term papers turn to ash in my hands, but that is a story for another day.
This poem is an example of the straw that broke the camel's back. After so many instances of near-success, one more "failure" in the artist's eyes pushes them over the edge. It is an example to us all that absolute perfection is impossible to obtain and that constant pushing to get it can only lead to disaster. Good work, and thanks for your comment on Armchair Critics.
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06-02-2009
Leah G.
This poem had nice descriptions and repetition. You seemed to "paint" the emotion of the narrator within the reader. (ha ha like my pun?) I also loved the ending stanza, and the repetition of "Nothing" was quite haunting. Nice job with this!
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05-21-2009
Susan Brown
My next question after reading this poem again...is...could you paint this madness? Possibly do it in charcoal as it implies? That would fill the framework, beautifully.
Susan
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05-21-2009
Susan Brown
Easy to feel the constant drop in the bucket filling here. Even nothing eventually adds up to something, like it OR not. There's some kind of scientific blueprint (chemical component reason) for everything, including madness. I love your title. It pulls a person toward the page. I keep meaning to ask you... if you are indeed an artist, as well as a writer? Most painters I know, write also. If only notes to them self as the ideas come so fast and furious they can't store them in one small container. I can't put a 5 on this as I'm a natural born optimist and have trouble visualizing the word- nothing. I do feel the slow motion fall in this and for that it's "done well" as I'm sure you'll ~hear~ from people your own age. I'm torn on this one, Lauren. I suppose that is the "normal" reaction (object of) this piece? To leave the reader...torn and tattered about the floor. What about the beautiful tools scattered? The painters heart and soul? The color! Oh my gosh...it makes me want to take scoop them up and book them a cruise, immediately. No time to pack. Thanks for letting me ramble. I need to go back and read your poem again. Once I'm on a rant, I'm so out of where I originally was...my friends run to get a net to catch me in. lol Stirring...the emotions this dashed. I'll give you that~
Susan
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