Constantin Severin (Romania)

 
Constantin Severin (Romania)
 
Constantin Severin is a Romanian writer and visual artist, founder and proponent of Archetypal Expressionism, a highly regarded global art movement, which he founded in Bukovina, in 2001. A graduate of the International Writing Program at the University of Iowa, he has published 13 books of poetry, essays and fiction. One of his poems was included in the 2014 World Literature Today anthology, After the Wall Fell: Dispatches from Central Europe (1989–2014), aimed at popularizing post-Wende Central European literature on the twenty-fifth anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall. Severin’s conceptual art and artworks have appeared in Artdaily, World Literature Today, Trafika Europe, It’s Liquid, Levure littéraire, Empireuma, Contemporanul, Vatra, Arkitera, Glare Magazine, The Poet, Cuadernos del Ateneo, Dance and Media Japan, Torkito Tarjoni, and other international art and literary magazines.
 
 
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Constantin Severin este scriitor și artist vizual, fondator și promotor al Expresionismului Arhetipal, o mișcare artistică de impact global, pe care a înființat-o în Bucovina, în anul 2001. Absolvent al cursului internațional de scriere creativă de la Universitatea Iowa, el a publicat 13 cărți de poezie, eseuri și romane. Unul dintre poemele sale a fost inclus în antologia realizată în 2014 de World Literature Today, După Căderea Zidului: Referințe din Europa Centrală (1989-2014), care și-a propus să facă mai cunoscută literatura central-europeană la cea de-a 25-a aniversare a căderii Zidului Berlinului. Lucrări și comentarii despre arta conceptuală a lui Severin au apărut în Artdaily, World Literature Today, Trafika Europe, It’s Liquid, Levure littéraire, Empireuma, Contemporanul, Vatra, Arkitera, Glare Magazine, The Poet, Cuadernos del Ateneo, Dance and Media Japan, Torkito Tarjoni și în alte reviste literare și de artă internaționale.
 
 
 
SALVADOR DALI
 
The Divine Dali was never the jester who leashed the leopard Babou
(an absolutely normal cat over which I painted my feline soul lurking)
the hallucinogenic genius with a thin twisted mustache inspired by Velazquez
who went down to exhibitions in a diving suit with a billiard cue in his hand
the irrational and eccentric painter who dreamed of Hitler as a woman
plunging madly into genuine paranoid ghosts
I lived in a photograph and the inner silence had depths and reliefs of a scream
 
The Divine Dali carried his cross to be born in duplicate
my parents suggested to me that I was the incarnation of my brother Salvador
and my whole existence was a flame agonizing under the sign of his early death
since I was baptized in St. Peter’s Church in Figueras
and until the last days spent in a wheelchair in the castle of Pubol
trying to paint the „Swallowtail” with a trembling right hand
my childhood adolescence and my whole erotic life had a funereal scent
 
The Divine Dali was a passionate and perfect disciple of Suffering
as a young man I became an outlaw the great masturbator and an avid voyeur
after browsing as a child through a book about venereal diseases at women
carnal love was an ordeal I made love only at the age of 25 with the Divine Gala
one night my guardian angel was bitten by the Andalusian Dog
honey is sweeter than dried blood on covered linen canvases
with frozen nightmares advancing deep into human consciousness
The Divine Dali was not Avida Dollars just loved money like a mystic
money and love are two purely surrealistic twin beings
which I often invited into the house and put on false mustaches
around them my genius grew like a logarithmic spiral in the rhino’s horn
or like Mae West’s fleshy furious lips
in a world under the mantle of Freud and the God of Commerce
seduced by the inner earthquakes caused by the delusional daydreams
 
The Divine Dali slipped through the world between melted pocket watches
with the mysterious elongated moments devoured by Einstein’s ants
and he loved artists who cut their hot ghostly veins
to feel with all the ardor the underground currents of history gushing
along with Picasso Miro Magritte I was more and more lucid and I broke
more and more perfection in my clenched teeth
painting has been an infinitely minute part of my inner life
 
Suceava, June 29, 2021
 
 
LEONORA CARRINGTON
 
I was always afraid of myself: I didn’t know where I was going and I was looking scared
with the right eye in the telescope and with the left in the microscope
painting was my only vehicle to move from one world to another
I have always had access to other worlds at least through daydreaming or dreaming
and I tried to capture in lines and colors things that cannot be expressed
the magic Celtic universe full of animals symbols and myths
I was the white horse passing through the circle of fire in the hyena’s eyes
 
I was always afraid of myself: I always thought I was wearing someone else’s face
face to face with the Gods I began to dance in the twilight grotesquely disguised
in my heart everything seemed paralyzed only the light moved in a circle
I am lonely and miserable but I proudly wear my last skin
and I feel on my body only the caresses of time with a thousand fingers
I was alone all my life but I did not suffer from loneliness
I have suffered from the idea that people who do not love me will steal my loneliness
 
I’ve always been afraid of myself: Max the only man I’ve ever loved
made me believe that in an infinite universe there are an infinite number of my copies
since then I’ve been wondering if I’m just one of those copies
perhaps the stream of the original creation no longer flows through my blood
and the paintings I signed are just perfect copies
I no longer recognize my winged face reflected in myriads of other faces
a Mexican salamander gushing from the mysterious lava of life returned from death
 
I have always been afraid of myself: space could be an illusion
and my only love story brutally interrupted by history
followed by a nervous breakdown and electroshock therapy
has occurred an infinite number of times in other universes
but I like to think that the feeling is unique and cannot be multiplied
a genetic manuscript a Celtic alphabet with letters named after trees
who weaves the magical events of flesh and blood in heaven and on earth
 
I was always afraid of myself: I went down to the quiet garden
with oleanders born of the purest color and transparent creatures
embodied in my hallucinogenic words of love and death
and I painted for myself the most intimate details of the dream
unicorn fruit trees women with bird cloaks and globular creatures
art is a magic that makes the hours intertwine frantically
and even dissolve the days in seconds until everything becomes light
 
Suceava, July 17, 2021
 
 
EDVARD MUNCH
 
reveal your face to see the face of a thing in its deep intimacy
to capture its emotion and tension in the rough and dramatic drawing in dynamite colors
try to lower reality to the essential and to deepen the soul reality
the lines of force of the inner scream laden with silence and mystery
all I painted was a reminder of the pages flipping through the depths of my being
where I took refuge to forget the disease and death lurking in my family
it’s no coincidence that I painted a self-portrait with an arm-skeleton
 
I tried to feel the simultaneous perception of all the intersecting worlds
multiplied and vanished indefinitely in my tormented soul
I didn’t want to be at the crossroads of thoughts and remember
the face of my mother dying of tuberculosis when I was five years old my crazy sister
the nervous and unforgiving father gripped by a funeral religious exaltation
who stole my nude paintings and burned them in the fireplace of the cold house
to move away the daydreams-diseases and fears augmented by the scream of self
 
I never imagined nature without the promontories of the soul
crossing the ghostly bridge between reality and dream I heard the scream
a flash of concentric lines under the incandescent skin of matter
just as Leonardo dissected corpses and I dissected souls in detail
I painted living beings who breathe feel suffer and love in the dance of life
and I perceived every touch of color as the vibration of a phonograph needle
suffering and music were part of me and my art
 
I have known misery since I was a child but I cultivated my condition for painting
with feelings from Gauguin Van Gogh Poe Strindberg Nietzsche Ibsen and Grieg
the best works gush hypnotically from the lava of the inner abyss
from childhood stories and myths from dreams stolen by the angels of fear and death
who have been watching me incessantly since my birthday in the village of Adalsbruck
bringing darker and darker clouds above the horizon of my life
to be a painter you have to forget the scream and work with rays of light
 
I have spent my whole life on the edge of a chasm
I lived suspended between two parallel faces the living face within me
and the dead face before me fell into the world from the original word
I always had the feeling that I was living among half-gone beings
sometimes I have cut my veins to see if the blood was still flowing
art literature and music are born and reborn in the blood of your heart
where the scream of nature ends the scream of the ego begins
 
Suceava, July 27, 2021
 
(From the work in progress, “The Lives of the Painters”)

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