Music (1890). William Nicholson (English, 1872-1949). Oil on canvas. Newark Town Hall Museum and Art Gallery.
Nicholson was successful mainly as a portraitist with many celebrity sitters, but he is now particularly admired for his still lifes, typically small, unpretentious, and sensitively handled: his son Ben Nicholson praised their poetic spirit.
One misleads oneself regarding the poet if one sees the essence of his art in depth of feeling and passion. Whoever finds inside himself a spark of the poetic spirit can only become a true poet if that which has moved his soul since the days of his youth is the word, the word as expression of the connection between his soul and the images of the world.
i’ve let you consume me. i’ve invested so much happiness into you, that i no longer remember what it was like to feel any other way. since the first time i layed eyes on you and looked into your consciousness and soul, i mean really looked into you, and knew there was something more. i felt something deeper with you, something that wasn’t like anything else before. i wanted to figure out what it was that had drawn me to you so goddamn much. what’s so special about you? i needed to find out. i needed to know why it was i caught you running through my mind at 2 a.m., i needed to know why i looked forward to seeing you everyday even though we were so quiet around each other, i needed to know why i found such peacefulness in the slight eye contact that we had exchanged. i needed to know. it consumed me, just like your love.
i use my tumblr as a sort of mood board/ escape mechanism from my everyday anxiety and self doubt. i also try to use it as this sense of motivation, but sometimes i also get caught up feelin like some sort of fraud?? like, i wish i could be this soft, poetic, adventurous, creative spirit who holds flowers and reads poetry and has dried paint on my blue jeans. but all too often i am a muddled grey. i am heavy in every sense of the word: unmotivated, quiet, often volatile in my emotions. i only ever make art in bursts. i keep trying to unlearn these thought patterns and habits and make myself into the tea sipping grandpa glasses kind of pastel pink calm i daydream about. sometimes i just worry its a lost cause.