The Art Monk - The Blog of Sandro Sebastian

     While this type of cheesy romance is not usually my genre, and I normally wouldn't even admit to having devoured an entire book cover to cover about this type of drama, preferring to maintain my masculine dignity and stride on with chest out, I did enjoy hearing this fictionalized version of the inspiration behind some of history's greatest paintings.      The story is told from the perspective of one Simonetta Vespucci, as she is betrothed to her husband, Marco Vespucci, during Renaissance times, in Florence during the reign of the Medici family. She is hailed as an astonishing beauty with no equal, and is adored everywhere she goes, has men fighting over her, and lining up at her balcony to sing songs to her almost every day from the street below. (Pretty girl problems, right?) We follow her marriage to Marco Vespucci, (cousin of Amerigo Vespucci, for whom America is named) from her teenage years into her early twenties, before she was taken ill with a form of tubercul

   I've been thinking about music lately, and the gift it is to our existence, and how it has influenced the direction of my own visual art as it opens up new doors in me, and gives us all a clear view into the undeniable potency of the human identity.     When it comes to music especially, there is so much fake stuff out there, and so many people who are fooled by it, if only momentarily. The people that just make random "exciting sounding noises" at spaced out intervals, to try and get us to "tingle" receive much more appreciation than they deserve. Cute little noises that make me "tingle" are not art, not music, and have no relation to the human identity, just a way of getting people to notice you as a performer, long enough for you to make some cash.      It really is too bad that so many people don't know the real thing when they see it, perhaps because they don't know any better. I've met those people, sat in classrooms with them,