Sunday, February 19, 2012
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Monday, February 13, 2012
Alan Ti-Zariguin... Paintings ...2012
Mystere Araginee - Spider on the Solar Cross resurrected by Madame de la Luna
Mighty Ghuedhe - Burn the black candle and use strong and sweet incense of the tomb, for in fire, you will be reborn as Ghuedhe
Baron Lundy - To pass beyond, it is only possible with the guidance of the Voudon Baron Lundy, who rules the qliphotic dimension of the Northern Cross.
Paintings are acrylic on 320 g handmade paper – format A6
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Saturday, February 11, 2012
Friday, February 10, 2012
Victor Brauner... painting... 1938
click on image to enlarge
Entre le jour el la nuit (Gemini), 1938
“We, bird and man on two thrones
prolonguedly chat
my lover with untroubled gestures conjuring up
consoling archetypes of the night.”
from (Eagles on Vacation) Gellu Naum
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
J Karl Bogartte... A Curious night for a double eclipse..2011
Received my copy today of a collaboration with a favourite poet/artist JK Bogartte...
The levels of consciousness passing through at unfamiliar angles, aroused by intuition and the enfolding future of wasps in a secretive handshake... The word for venom is always glowing in the dark. The storm takes your shape, impregnates those clear-cut moments of primitive bliss and darkens them. Everything unknown comes from deceptive distances. Authenticity enlightens death.
Life is another identity to the one you call your own, and the mystery of who desires its own form, follows the rush of nebulae...
The missing links ravishing the landscape, hesitant poses, reluctant portraits, the erotic gathering of phantoms that cast themselves skimming over the water, where you and your shadow mediate with death, shaking the clarities between the poles of unconscious desires, striking up the band, of thieves and precious stones, languorous nights collaborating with philosophers haunted by wolves in the foundry of priceless shoulder blades... Bone is like breath when it reflects the sun. It is like devotion, even when it slumbers and dreams of a desirable climax, a beautiful havoc no one can resist.
There is joy and longing in the skeletal remains of the astronomy that announces your passion, in quadrants, so completely out of step, so flint-like in those moments before waking, where you cannot even be seen...
“Eat me, my love, live on me with animal-thirst, in the charade of a diamond split open for perilous novelty. Lick my fleece and draw blood into enchanted circles... Suffer for me, my eager shadow, sip the nightshade of my buzzing and my antennae, and cling to my stake, glow for me in the shallows of all that resemble the artifacts of confusion and dismay... my love, enter me and become my hunger for you...”
Gold is time compressed into a diamond. Time is the process by which infinity lifts her dress just enough to unsilver the mirror that reflects your absence. Your breath is the completed triangle of a furious glance. Night trembles, because it knows you...
Desire and desperation unfold like roadblocks on a street of glaciers burning up the architecture of fear, where swans mimic giant prisms and autopsy implements fondling the brightest of your glimpses, with passion and concern, with empathy and idealization, a little violence and projection, a passing semblance of erotic devotion, and yes, filled with a certain grace, moments of acceptable doubt, an anguish that allows us to evolve... If we do not falter...
You are, in spite of yourself, a series of references, and ingenious designs, however brilliant and often too intricate for precise placement in the moment, and we become medial angles taunted by candles and poetic crimes in progress, crossbows of a lunar eclipse, and chaste fountains in the middle of the room with opened arms. We follow you with intent to commit mayhem. We love you endlessly, your propellers tearing up the forest, and when your transparency astounds us, we love you even more. A lunacy of longing dwells in us like words that have no meaning, but animal cries, torn linen, a loving defiance... There is hope for fire.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Monday, February 6, 2012
Friday, February 3, 2012
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Monday, January 23, 2012
Dolorosa ... a drawing for Harry Crosby 2012
...if it were not for you...
Dolorosa 2012 ~ for Harry Crosby
The Sun in unconcealed rage
Glares down across the magic of the world
The sun within us, that sways un incalculably.
At night
Swift to the Sun
Deep imaged in my soul
But during the long day black lands
To cross
And it is faith in the incalculable sun, inner and outer, which keeps us alive.
Sunmaid
Left by the tide
I bring you a conch-shell
That listening to the Sun you may
Revive
And there is always the battle of the sun, against the corrosive acid vapour of vanity and poisonous conceit, which is the breath of the world.
Dark clouds
Are not so dark
As our embittered thoughts
Which carve strange silences within
The Sun
HARRY CROSBY ~ CHARIOT OF THE SUN
Friday, January 20, 2012
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Monday, January 16, 2012
Saturday, January 14, 2012
Frank von Sepp... illustrations for Faust 1921...
click on image to enlarge
click on image to enlarge
~
Fill your heart to overflowing,
and when you feel profoundest bliss,
then call it what you will:
Good fortune! Heart! Love! or God!
I have no name for it!
Feeling is all;
the name is sound and smoke,
beclouding Heaven's glow.
MEPHISTOPHELES The modest truth I speak to thee.
If Man, the microcosmic fool, can see
Himself a whole so frequently,
Part of the Part am I, once All, in primal Night,--
Part of the Darkness which brought forth the Light,
The haughty light, which mow disputes the space,
And claims of Mother Night her ancient place.
And yet, the struggle fails; since Light, however weaves,
Still, fettered, unto bodies cleaves:
It flows from bodies, bodies beautifies;
By bodies is its course impeded;
And so, but little time is needed,
I hope, ere, as the bodies die, it dies!
If Man, the microcosmic fool, can see
Himself a whole so frequently,
Part of the Part am I, once All, in primal Night,--
Part of the Darkness which brought forth the Light,
The haughty light, which mow disputes the space,
And claims of Mother Night her ancient place.
And yet, the struggle fails; since Light, however weaves,
Still, fettered, unto bodies cleaves:
It flows from bodies, bodies beautifies;
By bodies is its course impeded;
And so, but little time is needed,
I hope, ere, as the bodies die, it dies!
from Faust by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
previous von Sepp
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
John Singer Sargent... Orestes Pursued by the Furies...1921
click on image to enlarge
P and lead the dance of Fate!
- Lift the song that mortals hate!
- Tell what rights are ours on earth,
- Over all of human birth.
- Swift of foot to avenge are we!
- He whose hands are clean and pure,
- Naught our wrath to dread hath he;
- Calm his cloudless days endure.
- But the man that seeks to hide
- Like him, his gore-bedewèd hands,
- Witnesses to them that died,
- The blood avengers at his side,
- The Furies' troop forever stands.
Aeschylus ~ Song of the Furies
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Bhaskar Lahiri... Paintings and prints...
click on image to enlarge
The ancient civilizations of the entire world , especially that of
India, with their spectacular manifestations , create an enchantment
In me. Side by side age-old Indian philosophy , history,religion,
folk-culture, literature,folk-art,etc.stir the very core of my mind.
In every nook and corner of my home state ,West Bengal,folk climes
have its presence felt.Hence my utmost sincerity is to house those
dew and dust strewn jewels into my compositions
India, with their spectacular manifestations , create an enchantment
In me. Side by side age-old Indian philosophy , history,religion,
folk-culture, literature,folk-art,etc.stir the very core of my mind.
In every nook and corner of my home state ,West Bengal,folk climes
have its presence felt.Hence my utmost sincerity is to house those
dew and dust strewn jewels into my compositions
Bhaskar Lahiri
Friday, January 6, 2012
Monday, January 2, 2012
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Charles Rickett... poster... 1920...satyr
click on image to enlarge
Poster advertising The Dynasts by Thomas Hardy c1920
Amid this scene of bodies substantive
Strange waves I sight like winds grown visible,
Which bear men's forms on their innumerous coils,
Twining and serpenting round and through.
Also retracting threads like gossamers—
Except in being irresistible—
Which complicate with some, and balance all.Thomas Hardy
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