...you lie frozen in the shadow of my night~ Elemental Passions, collage 2015
Saturday, October 3, 2015
Friday, October 4, 2013
Assembled from several hundred engravings, many taken from books of etchings by William Blake, as well as other illustrations from early nineteenth-century books. The principal motifs are natural (birds, animals, and especially snakes) and Christian (images of the crucifixion, scenes from the Bible, and crusaders). Drops of red india ink and extensive religious commentary have been added to many of the images.
inscribed "To Amy Lester Garland--A legacy left in his lifetime for her future examination by her affectionate father" September 1st 1854
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
"It was a spring day. Birds spilled out their warbling canticles, and humans, having answered their various calls of duty, were bathing in the sanctity of fatigue. Everything was working out its destiny: trees, planets, sharks. All except the Creator! He was stretched out on the highway, his clothing torn, His lower lip hung down like a soporific cable. His teeth were unbrushed, and dust clogged the blond waves of his hair. Numbed by a torpid drowsiness, crushed against pebbles, his body was making futile efforts to get up again. His strength had left him, and he lay there weak as an earthworm, impassive as treebark. Gouts of wine swamped the ruts trenched by his shoulders' nervous twitches."
Lautréamont, From "Maldoror"
(trans. Alexis Lykiard)
previous Jindrich Styrsky
Styrsky poem > here
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Monday, April 19, 2010
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Friday, January 29, 2010
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Anne Wagner 1795-1834.
I am the daughter of Earth and Water,
And the nursling of the Sky;
I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores;
I change, but I cannot die,
For after the rain when with never a stain
The pavilion of Heaven is bare,
And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams
Build up the blue dome of air, I silently laugh at my own cenotaph,
And out of the caverns of rain,
Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb,
I arise and unbuild it again.
Shelly, The Daemon of the World, I.1.1