There was an artist named Andy Warhol whose paintings sure enough weren't for all. Like a flimflam man he copied soup cans, and viewers saw [not Campbell, but] Warhol.
Andy Warhol Limerick
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Artpreneur: The Step-by-Step Guide to Making a Sustainable Living from Your Creativity by Miriam Schulman
The Madman’s Gallery by Edward Brooke-Hitching


As in Hokusai’s Great Wave,
I watch waves roll over,
before a volcanic cone.
Though these waves are
small & close,
they are perfectly rounded.
And though the distant volcano
looms large over the shore waves,
it has perfect symmetry.
I feel the roundness
&
simultaneous devastating power
of both elements at once.


The forest looks painted with dabs of bright color, a pointillist mural of the leaves' last hurrah. Soon, it'll turn twiggy, and sing desolation, and invite the fog in to soften sharp lines. Then one day you'll notice leaves glowing in sunlight. Their green will be golden from warm yellow rays. The maturing forest will darken its greenness, turning to sober tones that blot out the light.
Someone put a tiny, limp-gunned tank
on Danube west bank --
in Budapest, opposite Parliament.
Unsubtle symbolism, indeed,
but worth noting:
The might of violence
made feeble in the face of democracy,
and all that.
So true,
and yet so few
seem to believe it.
We seem to believe
that matching savagery
is the key to strategy
in opposing the extreme,
but then we've really just made more
extremism, haven't we?