Representing saints with paint
is to the mind of moderns quaint.
When on icons lives are told
in burnished and Byzantine gold,
the haloes and the holy faces,
projected to the inner spaces
of the viewers, they don’t fill
the void for them despite the skill
of the artist, not believing
in immaculate conceiving.
“Very charming, ” they will say,
more impressed by those who pay
fortunes for contemporary
art, composed extempore,
where each image is despised,
faces can’t be recognized,
and brushstrokes should not correspond
to here and now, for far beyond
reality the artists search,
not painting idols for a church,
but idealizing their own mind
as by painting they unwind.
I wouldn’t say the concept differs
from what Byzantine art delivers
in icons, for iconoclasm
is one more means to paint orgasm,
no less intense than gilded paint
Byzantines use to paint the saint.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Another brilliant piece, more dazzling than byzantine gold; great job!