I have drawn a view of a public garden in Nice, in the French Riviera. I think it is both beautiful and sad with an old knobbly tree with tangled branches in the foreground and behind it the statue of a huddling woman.
The melancholic side of the scene reminds me the spleens by poet Charles Baudelaire. I have read again The Flowers of Evil and found a few lines from the poem The Mask that describe what my drawing tries to express:
— O sad great beauty! The grand river, fed
By your rich tears, debouches in my heart.
Though I am rapt with your deceptive art,
My soul is slaked upon the tears you shed.
And yet why does she weep? Such peerless grace
Could trample down the conquered human race.
What evil gnaws her flank so strong and sleek?
She weeps because she’s lived, and that she lives.
Madly she weeps for that. But more she grieves
(And at the knees she trembles and goes weak)
Because tomorrow she must live, and then
The next day, and forever — like us men.
Charles Baudelaire, excerpt from the poem The Mask (in Roy Campbell’s Poems of Baudelaire)