I have started my way of love. To make my pictures sing, I have entirely transformed myself, and here are my writings which I am glad to share with you.
I called this alloy "The Letters of Love",
and the art of color hides it from me as in a tale. To do this I took the disguise of poetry and stayed with my pictures as a guest.
I believe that my paintings and my lines will decorate the walls of your dwellings and merge with your family happiness, and such feelings coming from afar make my heart rise.
Love and knowledge have opened a door for us from the world of Fata Morgana, and I am infinitely grateful to them for this, I am grateful to my friends who admire arts, and to all and everyone.
See you again in new pictures, books, and wondrous melodies.
After the Saturday prayer, 19:23
The whole creative and spiritual life of Robishan is illuminated with one great passion to serve the beauty and simplicity. Since his early childhood the perfect ideal of beauty, incarnated in most splendid women, nature, poetry, music and science, has settled in his heart. Fate has amply awarded the young artist with many talents, the highest of which is the talent of devoted love, whose warm breath is felt in each of his works. Robishan is an artist not only by his trade but by his calling, the way of life, elevated harmony of thoughts and feelings, vision of the world and attitude to people and art. His works reveal an inseparable match of colors and lines in painting and drawing with the word, which is fundamental of any creativity in all its forms from the poetic state of mind to novel and lyrical poems in prose. And here is his music, embodying the highest harmony of being in the consonance of cosmic spheres. The mastery of Robishan, intellectual and sensual, refined and exquisite, is a unique phenomenon having nothing parallel in modern art. Maestro brings a spark of perfection into this so very often cruel and inhuman world. He restores a belief in all of us that love, beauty and goodness will eventually take over hatred and evil.
Cheers, Maestro, you are a man of a genius!
You lived in me.
Remembering you in cold weather, I warmed myself up
feeding you with pigeon milk,
and when it was hot I covered you with an umbrella of bright flowers, and when autumn leaves rustled in the garden you were vivid in my dreams. Oh, my spring fantasies!
I long for you in the ordeal of adieu. Keep loving me, you are my great hope.
There are your footsteps on the paths, and lanes and avenues, void of your melodies is still and silent...
The quiet night
In the room where you had planted convolutions I spent so much time thinking of you.
Put my palms to your breast and you'll feel the beating of my heart. My palms got so used to your body that they could shape your silhouette in space.
Birds that flew above my house embraced my thoughts and took me for one of their own.
The moon above my house illuminated everything around with velvet shine.
Since my childhood I am used to gaze upon the moon each time discovering something new.
The star morning 5:55
The birds to whom we tossed seeds from our window have built a nest of tunes deep in their hearts devoted to you. Mermaids play the music, angels dance, dolphins sing and birds bring twigs in their beaks to decorate your window. They call you and invite you.
The morning... I gathered all the stars and scattered them over my canvas. I dreamt up a story for each star and painted all of them in different colours. You are my high art, you are my bitter pain.
Friday deceptive dream 7:00 In the morning
One more day. It came and it passed.
No matter how I begged, I could not keep it. "Stay here! Don't leave." I cried shamelessly.
It did not wait, it did not linger and disappeared in the mist. Even when I am with you, I am away from you. You are among the angels, oh, my Angel!
If dreams turned to reality, I would see you every day. We would hold hands, arresting time, and fly up heaven-high, and birds would envy us.
The spring happy day 11:15
Each day I build for you big cities of broken grass in all colors of the rainbow, and at the center of each I sculpt your figure out of tropical fruit. Holding hands we orbit the imaginary planet, closing half circles of the rainbow.
If your breast can hold a stone, then turn me in that stone, for your touch is art. Let me imbibe the nectar of your love and work a miracle. Turn the ocean of tears in my heart into a shower of hot rain.
Play, fiddler, play!
This night I am a different man, do play a song for me. I cannot write, I cannot say all what is on my mind, and the lines are floating before my eyes. Play for my thoughts to mingle with your tunes and disappear in the hearts of lovers. Fill their glasses with this lovely drink; let them get high inhaling heady air and forgetting one and all.
Play, fiddler, play! Be cheerful and be sad. Flowers withered in books. I have scattered them for you over the sea, smooth as a looking glass.
Monday morning meeting, 9:35
How did it happen that having touched my verses you passed them by? Now I keep my poems with your picture in mammoth tomes of great poet of yore to add more meaning to my lines.
The poets are jealous of my verses, for those verses want to take you into their secret world. Would you go?!
At the threshold of my house I have raised flowers, and even the birds, that alight on them, same as I crave for your romantic looks. You are a being of another world.
The raining Tuesday 8:00 In the morning
I spent long hours away from the city noise. Many scenes flashed through my mind and form a chain of many movies.
When the pat of rain played its quiet melody you staged puppet shows using dolls which you made of dry twigs, and I wrote scripts for those shows.
Look out of the window. Do you see what the weather is like? I mix up clouds with wind and send you a picture which covers the blue sky. Enjoy it and listen to the melodies of wind, for they have much to tell you.
Such is the chronicle of one life...
The raining Tuesday 8:00 In the morning
I spent long hours away from the city noise. Many scenes flashed through my mind and form a chain of many movies.
When the pat of rain played its quiet melody you staged puppet shows using dolls which you made of dry twigs, and I wrote scripts for those shows.
Look out of the window. Do you see what the weather is like? I mix up clouds with wind and send you a picture which covers the blue sky. Enjoy it and listen to the melodies of wind, for they have much to tell you.
Such is the chronicle of one life...
I have vanished, and my world is void!
For the sake of great love I flung my talent to flames, never regretting it. Oh, your vehement love! Do you still remember it?
For it was you who inscribed
Monday restricted day
songs of love in my heart,
and my heart is yearning for
hope followed by faith and
beauty. To recreate you I
outraged all the rules and
defied the laws of art. Today I have wished to let out my Fire Bird, the image of our love. I opened the cage, but it did not fly
away.
Was it the affirmation of my
love?
A mysterious night
Out of the magnificent Garden
of Eden, where sparkles a font of love and wells out a spring of hope, lyrical weather heads for us. Birds which never before flew in there, are nearby. I hear their elated cries which implore me to let them into your dreams and show you
their crazy dances. My thoughts of days, which have never existed, are so blissful that I fear their return. At this night, the night of songs, please, stay with me, at least in my dreams.
The special morning 6:40
It's an evening again.
The light does not go out. I will wait
for you till dawn without a wink of sleep, and the beam of sun comes through the window.
I have just put on the radio and listened to a love story. It seemed as if you said to me those colored words, which, merging with the dawn beam, were disappearing in the infinity...
Again you have
not come, my cryptic
love.
Saturday's holiday night 4:45 In the morning
All the night long I have been looking at
the stars. Each fallen
star was a holder of
my wish. I dream of
burning in the agony of love. Do take my
heart, deprive me of
my breath, and let one life of many end in a loud and bravura chord.
I know, you often go to exhibitions. Learn the creative pearls of others and try to hear my
voice among them. Hug it
and kiss.
The
caressing
evening
21:30
Try sometimes to recall how I embraced you on the seashore hiding you from unwelcome eyes, and you melted in my arms, snuggling up to my chest, humming a quiet melody to me. I did not feel my fingers intertwine on your soft waist. Oh, how I jealous was of my hands! You filled my soul with
bright flowers and dressed my heart into a shirt of love that you have woven. So hard it is to be
without you, but how painful it is to be by your side. I crave for the fragrance of your hair, I wait for it. Oh, my wingless
angel!
Again a tempest rages in my heart! I look through the window and see how the angels have rented a nook in your soul to make it home for my thoughts.
If the angels cannot pay you off, don't chase them away as their thoughts were good...
Sometimes the angels come to me as swans with news from you. And they are so white that I cannot but believe them.
The summer sunny morning, 7:20
I was fondling your face with delicate kisses till the morning. I confessed to you that I loved you more than my days not yet lived. Joyfully you took off the flowers which I fixed to your hair and put them in my breast pocket. The flowers on my heart came to life again, and their purple color touched your cheeks.
Your wondrous words were circling in my room. I caught them and arranged them on the walls. They turned to stars and made pictures. I called them "The Letters of Love".
The mysterious Friday 6:20
Wind thuds into my window when you rise in my mind. What shall I do? The traces of that stormy night still linger in my memory. Where did you get to? Did you turn into a mermaid or flew up high to birds? Or maybe you are lost in sounds?
You are like a model all in bright attire; your hair changed its color under the beret.
From the frozen heart sun suddenly was up. Your feelings invaded me in flexible wavy streams...
The modest evening 20:35
Towards the evening I took my guitar and removed my heart, and left it at the window to cool. It disappeared... If doves have brought my heart to you, give one half of it back to me, so that we could meet again. I am in the midst of books, and I am dissolved in novels. Dreamily have been passing my way with no wish to wake.
I have lost the melody between the strings of my guitar, and I cannot replay the voids of those sounds.
The autumn pictorial day
Do you see how the first autumn rain has fallen on earth again? As if with music earth welcomes it. These parts the sun is so scorching, one cannot see a thin rain which disappears before it touches ground. That kiss of rain with earth raised instant jealousy in me.
Today I took my brush again, filled with unconscious memories of you.
The day of the immortal creations,
10:30
The wind, which follows the sea routes, carries me above the waves. I have a bird's eye view of the sea bed, and I see you in a huge underwater castle, a sparkling crown on your head. You pick stars from the sea bed and toss them up to sea gulls in the air, who pass them on to me. Of them I make love lyrics in the sky. After a while they rain down to touch your lips with tender kisses. Breathe in these kisses and come out from the depths to dance with me an underwater tango on a high wave.
God guards love as He guards Himself! Art is a sacred love and a freezing cold drop of water vanishing in heat.
When Science shall in earnest get down to studying art we'll grow spiritually.
Art will find, Science will prove and the Civilization will accept.
You are my cold art, you are my Sun.
A conjurer playing with light has plunged you in a dialogue with the world of tales.
I have started my way of live.