My newfound love for... the LIBRARY!

Last night, a friend of mine wanted company at the library. I, the fine arts student with reading troubles, does not like the library. Somehow, I got guilt tripped into going to the library and to my surprise, my friend has found the section with books on the Italian Renaissance. That is one dangerous library section for a person like me to find. I checked out six books! Me... six books.

So that bad habit of reading all of the signs in the FADS dance studio will probably end by Thanksgiving. I have so much else to read with historic content that I might lose interest in the signs when I am dancing. If all else fails, read before you go dance!!! What a concept *smile*

Anyway, I wanted to share a poem that I translated into English that was written by Michelangelo. Yes, I found a book of his poetry and letters. My heart melted. I was up until 2 am. reading. Its like all of those old women that watch Lifetime TV shows like "Desperate Housewives". They cry and get so into what they are watching... thats how I get around Michelango and Leonardo Da Vinci drawings and writings. If I could choose to resurrect anyone from the dead... I would pick one of those artists - or Shakespeare. Many would say Jesus... I say artist! Haha! Well here's one of those poems I was talking about:

I' ho gia fatto un gozzo in questo stento,*

This comes of dangling from the ceiling -

I'm goitered like a Lombard cat*

(or wherever else their throats grow fat) -

it's my belly that's beyond concealing,

it hangs beneath my chin like peeling.

My beard points skyward, I seem a bat

upon its back, I've breasts and splat!

On my face the paint's congealing.

Loins concertina'd in my gut

I drop an arse as counterweight

and move without the help of eyes.

Like a skinned martyr I abut

on air, and, wrinkled, show my fate.

Bow-like, I strain toward the skies.

No wonder then I size

things crookedly; I'm on all fours.

Bent blowpipes send their darts off-course.

Defend my labour's cause,

good Giovanni, from all strictures:

I live in hell and paint its pictures.

(Girardi, 5, 1509-10)

Wow... can you say wow! WOW! Doesn't that just make you pause and think... To live in hell and paint its pictures. I love that phrase. As an artist, I can relate to this poem. I work so hard, and it is left unappreciated. People don't take time to understand what a person must give up to be an artist. Sometimes it really does feel like this world is a hell and I am just here painting its pictures. Michelangelo never ceases to amaze me.

Okie dox... I have a psychology class in five minutes, so I'm gonna run.

Enjoy the rain today, and don't forget to go puddle jumping by GK! BIG BIG ...

Really big puddles!

Will write soon,

-R