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Spleen: When a Heavy Lid of Low Sky… When a heavy lid of low sky covers a soul moaning with ennui and fright, and the whole horizon is rounded by a black day pouring down, sadder than any night; When the earth is turned to a muggy dungeon where Hope is the shadow of a bat, feeling with feeble, flapping wings along the grunge on walls and bumping its head against a putrid ceiling; When the crawling spiders of scattershot rains drop cold bars that imprison us, water trickles along the channels in our brains, and the people around us feel poisonous— the bells speak out suddenly with fury and lance the sky with dreadful howls, and frightened strays and exiles, sorry and homeless, rage from deep within their bowels. Long hearses roll, slow, silent, hypnotic, through my soul. Hope, defeated, cries out its atrocious anguish—despotic. A black hood slides over my ferocious eyes. Spleen: I am like the King of a Rainy Country I am like the King of a Rainy Country, Rich, but powerless; young, yet feeling wintry; no longer flattered by the obsequious bow; Bored by my dogs and by every other creature now, Nothing brightens my day, not the Hunt, not falconry, Not the dying people below my balcony. My fool’s grotesque ballading does not distract me from my malady. Carved with fleur-de-lys, my bed is a tomb while sequestered ladies who think every prince a bloom hope by their impudent dress to make me their own; they will never coax a mouse out of this young skeleton. Shall we turn to those who claim they turn lead to gold though they and we remain the living dead? I bathe in the baths of blood the Romans brought us back in the days of great power and purpose. Even they cannot warm this dazed cadaver slipping into the place where the salt has lost its savor. (Charles BaudelaireTranslated from the French by James McColley Eilers).
Spleen: When a Heavy Lid of Low Sky… When a heavy lid of low sky covers a soul moaning with ennui and fright, and the whole horizon is rounded by a black day pouring down, sadder than any night; When the earth is turned to a muggy dungeon where Hope is the shadow of a bat, feeling with feeble, flapping wings along the grunge on walls and bumping its head against a putrid ceiling; When the crawling spiders of scattershot rains drop cold bars that imprison us, water trickles along the channels in our brains, and the people around us feel poisonous— the bells speak out suddenly with fury and lance the sky with dreadful howls, and frightened strays and exiles, sorry and homeless, rage from deep within their bowels. Long hearses roll, slow, silent, hypnotic, through my soul. Hope, defeated, cries out its atrocious anguish—despotic. A black hood slides over my ferocious eyes. Spleen: I am like the King of a Rainy Country I am like the King of a Rainy Country, Rich, but powerless; young, yet feeling wintry; no longer flattered by the obsequious bow; Bored by my dogs and by every other creature now, Nothing brightens my day, not the Hunt, not falconry, Not the dying people below my balcony. My fool’s grotesque ballading does not distract me from my malady. Carved with fleur-de-lys, my bed is a tomb while sequestered ladies who think every prince a bloom hope by their impudent dress to make me their own; they will never coax a mouse out of this young skeleton. Shall we turn to those who claim they turn lead to gold though they and we remain the living dead? I bathe in the baths of blood the Romans brought us back in the days of great power and purpose. Even they cannot warm this dazed cadaver slipping into the place where the salt has lost its savor. (Charles BaudelaireTranslated from the French by James McColley Eilers).
Spleen: When a Heavy Lid of Low Sky… When a heavy lid of low sky covers a soul moaning with ennui and fright, and the whole horizon is rounded by a black day pouring down, sadder than any night; When the earth is turned to a muggy dungeon where Hope is the shadow of a bat, feeling with feeble, flapping wings along the grunge on walls and bumping its head against a putrid ceiling; When the crawling spiders of scattershot rains drop cold bars that imprison us, water trickles along the channels in our brains, and the people around us feel poisonous— the bells speak out suddenly with fury and lance the sky with dreadful howls, and frightened strays and exiles, sorry and homeless, rage from deep within their bowels. Long hearses roll, slow, silent, hypnotic, through my soul. Hope, defeated, cries out its atrocious anguish—despotic. A black hood slides over my ferocious eyes. Spleen: I am like the King of a Rainy Country I am like the King of a Rainy Country, Rich, but powerless; young, yet feeling wintry; no longer flattered by the obsequious bow; Bored by my dogs and by every other creature now, Nothing brightens my day, not the Hunt, not falconry, Not the dying people below my balcony. My fool’s grotesque ballading does not distract me from my malady. Carved with fleur-de-lys, my bed is a tomb while sequestered ladies who think every prince a bloom hope by their impudent dress to make me their own; they will never coax a mouse out of this young skeleton. Shall we turn to those who claim they turn lead to gold though they and we remain the living dead? I bathe in the baths of blood the Romans brought us back in the days of great power and purpose. Even they cannot warm this dazed cadaver slipping into the place where the salt has lost its savor. (Charles BaudelaireTranslated from the French by James McColley Eilers).
Spleen: When a Heavy Lid of Low Sky… When a heavy lid of low sky covers a soul moaning with ennui and fright, and the whole horizon is rounded by a black day pouring down, sadder than any night; When the earth is turned to a muggy dungeon where Hope is the shadow of a bat, feeling with feeble, flapping wings along the grunge on walls and bumping its head against a putrid ceiling; When the crawling spiders of scattershot rains drop cold bars that imprison us, water trickles along the channels in our brains, and the people around us feel poisonous— the bells speak out suddenly with fury and lance the sky with dreadful howls, and frightened strays and exiles, sorry and homeless, rage from deep within their bowels. Long hearses roll, slow, silent, hypnotic, through my soul. Hope, defeated, cries out its atrocious anguish—despotic. A black hood slides over my ferocious eyes. Spleen: I am like the King of a Rainy Country I am like the King of a Rainy Country, Rich, but powerless; young, yet feeling wintry; no longer flattered by the obsequious bow; Bored by my dogs and by every other creature now, Nothing brightens my day, not the Hunt, not falconry, Not the dying people below my balcony. My fool’s grotesque ballading does not distract me from my malady. Carved with fleur-de-lys, my bed is a tomb while sequestered ladies who think every prince a bloom hope by their impudent dress to make me their own; they will never coax a mouse out of this young skeleton. Shall we turn to those who claim they turn lead to gold though they and we remain the living dead? I bathe in the baths of blood the Romans brought us back in the days of great power and purpose. Even they cannot warm this dazed cadaver slipping into the place where the salt has lost its savor. (Charles BaudelaireTranslated from the French by James McColley Eilers).
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When a Heavy Lid of Low Sky… Painting

Mehdi Saadeti

Turkey

Painting, Oil on Canvas

Size: 33.5 W x 55.1 H x 1.6 D in

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About The Artwork

Spleen: When a Heavy Lid of Low Sky… When a heavy lid of low sky covers a soul moaning with ennui and fright, and the whole horizon is rounded by a black day pouring down, sadder than any night; When the earth is turned to a muggy dungeon where Hope is the shadow of a bat, feeling with feeble, flapping wings along the grunge on walls and bumping its head against a putrid ceiling; When the crawling spiders of scattershot rains drop cold bars that imprison us, water trickles along the channels in our brains, and the people around us feel poisonous— the bells speak out suddenly with fury and lance the sky with dreadful howls, and frightened strays and exiles, sorry and homeless, rage from deep within their bowels. Long hearses roll, slow, silent, hypnotic, through my soul. Hope, defeated, cries out its atrocious anguish—despotic. A black hood slides over my ferocious eyes. Spleen: I am like the King of a Rainy Country I am like the King of a Rainy Country, Rich, but powerless; young, yet feeling wintry; no longer flattered by the obsequious bow; Bored by my dogs and by every other creature now, Nothing brightens my day, not the Hunt, not falconry, Not the dying people below my balcony. My fool’s grotesque ballading does not distract me from my malady. Carved with fleur-de-lys, my bed is a tomb while sequestered ladies who think every prince a bloom hope by their impudent dress to make me their own; they will never coax a mouse out of this young skeleton. Shall we turn to those who claim they turn lead to gold though they and we remain the living dead? I bathe in the baths of blood the Romans brought us back in the days of great power and purpose. Even they cannot warm this dazed cadaver slipping into the place where the salt has lost its savor. (Charles BaudelaireTranslated from the French by James McColley Eilers).

Details & Dimensions

Painting:Oil on Canvas

Original:One-of-a-kind Artwork

Size:33.5 W x 55.1 H x 1.6 D in

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He was born in Tabriz- Iran in 1981. Between 1999-2006 he educated Bachelor's and Master's degrees in the Architecture Department, Fine Arts and Architecture Faculty of Tabriz Azad University. The title of his Final Project in Master was “Architecture without Function – A Monumental Architecture for Moghul Period’s Utopian Architecture.” Between 2001-2008, he worked in his art studio in Tabriz, Heris, and Jolfa cite, trying different fields of art. In 2008, he was elected as Research Assistant at Heris Azad University for a semester. In 2009, he was selected for the Proficiency in Art program at Hacettepe University, Painting Department in Ankara. He participated in 7 solo and many group international exhibitions and biennales. He continues his artistic career at Hacettepe University, Painting Department. Simultaneously he works as an Instructor in Hacettepe University, Painting Department.

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