Monday, September 19, 2011
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Ethiopian Manuscripts...Archangel Michael
a few favourite images from the Homilitary and Miracles of the Archangel Michael manuscript...
Homilitary and Miracles of the Archangel Michael Ethiopia (Gondari) late 17th century
Tempera and ink on parchment
The archangel Michael, whose cult first emerged under the patronage of the Emperor Zar'a Ya'eqob, remains the most venerated archangel in Ethiopia, largely due to his role as an intercessor on behalf of the faithful.
interesting exhibition and text here > Art That Heals: The Image as Medicine in Ethiopia
Labels:
Ethiopian manuscripts,
manuscripts
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Francesco Parisi ... Woodcuts... Part 1
the wonderful woodcuts of Francesco Parisi...
Cena Segreta
click on image to enlarge
Hairesis
Endura
Anasurma
Francesco's work also featured in the first publication of Abraxas, including his painting that graced the cover.
a lovely selection of his work accompanied by music can also be seen on youtube Anarcadia
Labels:
Abraxas,
Francesco Parisi,
woocuts
Friday, September 16, 2011
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Monday, September 12, 2011
Friday, September 9, 2011
Hans Troschel (1585-1628) after Simon Vouet (1590-1649)... Satyrs
Satyrs admiring the anamorphosis of an Elephant; eight satyrs are pointing at a reflection cast by the elephant on the table at centre; a formal garden in background.
Engraving
Engraving
Labels:
1600s,
engravings,
Hans Troschel,
Oskar Kokoschka.prints,
satyr,
Simon Vouet
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Gerrit van Honthorst.... Saint Sebastian... c1623
click on image to enlarge
The Love Song of St. Sebastian
T. S. Eliot
I would come in a shirt of hair
I would come with a lamp in the night
And sit at the foot of your stair;
I would flog myself until I bled,
And after hour on hour of prayer
And torture and delight
Until my blood should ring the lamp
And glisten in the light;
I should arise your neophyte
And then put out the light
To follow where you lead,
To follow where your feet are white
In the darkness toward your bed
And where your gown is white
And against your gown your braided hair.
Then you would take me in
Because I was hideous in your sight
You would take me in without shame
Because I should be dead
And when the morning came
Between your breasts should lie my head.
I would come with a towel in my hand
And bend your head beneath my knees;
Your earls curl back in a certain way
Like no one’s else in all the world.
When all the world shall melt in the sun,
Melt or freeze,
I shall remember how your ears were curled.
I should for a moment linger
And follow the curve with my finger
And your head beneath my knees---
I think that at last you would understand.
There would be nothing more to say.
You would love me because I should have strangled you
And because of my infamy;
And I should love you the more because I mangled you
And because you were no longer beautiful
To anyone but me.
1914
T. S. Eliot
I would come in a shirt of hair
I would come with a lamp in the night
And sit at the foot of your stair;
I would flog myself until I bled,
And after hour on hour of prayer
And torture and delight
Until my blood should ring the lamp
And glisten in the light;
I should arise your neophyte
And then put out the light
To follow where you lead,
To follow where your feet are white
In the darkness toward your bed
And where your gown is white
And against your gown your braided hair.
Then you would take me in
Because I was hideous in your sight
You would take me in without shame
Because I should be dead
And when the morning came
Between your breasts should lie my head.
I would come with a towel in my hand
And bend your head beneath my knees;
Your earls curl back in a certain way
Like no one’s else in all the world.
When all the world shall melt in the sun,
Melt or freeze,
I shall remember how your ears were curled.
I should for a moment linger
And follow the curve with my finger
And your head beneath my knees---
I think that at last you would understand.
There would be nothing more to say.
You would love me because I should have strangled you
And because of my infamy;
And I should love you the more because I mangled you
And because you were no longer beautiful
To anyone but me.
1914
Labels:
1600s,
Gerrit van Honthorst,
paintings,
poems,
saint sebastian,
T.S. Eliot
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Friday, September 2, 2011
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Monday, August 29, 2011
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