click image for detail
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Maman Brigitte ... Jessica Grote, poem & Claude Saintilius, art.
click on image to enlarge
Maman Brigitte by Claude Saintilius
~~ Our Lady of the Cemetery: Maman Brigitte ~~
The Face of Death
Ruby-red drops of blood mix with the white flour. The strong
alcohol is still burning in her throat. Passion overcomes her,a
yearning, a desperate physical hunger, spreading her legs wide
open, shivering through her body. She wants to embrace...the
Dead.
Fixing her gaze on the purple candle, raising it high
above her head, she whispers... Maman... Ma mere... An irresistable
urge has her pouring the purple wax over her body
while calling out to HER...
You are walking down the long and sparely lit hallway.
Following a noise, a whisper, the distant echo of MY voice.
It is cold, you are alone and yet you know we are all around -
waiting for you.
Treading on the path of the unknown, you feel fear, my child,
I know.
Be brave, go ahead, follow MY call, open that door.
I am over here, standing below the willow on that old cemetery
Yes, it is music coming out of this crypt. Have a look, go inside,
you will see strange rites but also merry dancing and laughter.
Dance with the Dead, my child! Dance with my children!
Do not take yourself too serious!
I am the Mother of the Dead and we are everywhere. In fact
everyone is a walking Dead.
So why not laugh in the face of Death?
by Jessica Grote ~October 2010 excerpt from Atua
Labels:
ATUA,
Claude Saintilius,
Jessica Grote,
Maman Brigitte,
poems
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Friday, October 28, 2011
Friday, October 21, 2011
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Hokeah, Jack (1902-1969) ... paintings
Buffalo Dance 1929
War Dancer 1929
Greeting of Thee Moon God 1929
Chasing Evil Spirits 1929
more Jack Hokeah at Kiowa Indian Art in the C Szwedzicki Collection
Labels:
Jack Hokeah,
paintings
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Gio Colucci... book illustration... The Torture Garden..
illustration from Octave Mirbeaus Torture Garden 1925
from The Torture Garden, written by Octave Mirbeau in 1899
Labels:
Gio Colucci,
illustration,
Octave Mirbeau,
writers
Works of Art.... Skull and Devil... Japan
Ivory okimono of a scull (tokotsu) entwined with a serpent, Meiji period (1868 - 1912)
worn by members of the underground dokudo (later yakuza), because they believed it brought good luck to gamblers. In the Meiji period the best-known carver of this subject was Gjokuzan.
Carved ivory netsuke signed Chiyuki 之, Japan, Meiji period, turn of the 19th century
This netsuke depicts a typical stylized devil Oni
They come from the Buddhist pantheon and appear in many folk stories. In this comical stylization the umbrella is used instead of the kanabo steel club. The eyes of the devil are made of mother-of-pearl and were inserted by the technique ji ita hamekomi.
Labels:
japan,
Japanese,
works of art
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Monday, October 17, 2011
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Robert Taylor... Pen & Ink drawings and Poem...
Rose ~ pen and ink
Sri Yantra for the Kali Yuga ~ Pen and Ink
Flower of Freya ~ Pen and Ink
The Pointillist
In the gathering indigo of evening
at the twilight of the day,
as ghosts of blue smoke be rising
from chimeys red and grey,
an ink-besmeared drawing board,
testament to lonely nights
of labor-intense endeavors
where his patient work is wrought.
The small key rolls the tumblers
of an oiled, aged lock
that opens the door to stillness.
He feels for the light switch
to vanquish the dark.
Alchemist of the stipple-pen
in his black kitchen of art,
pursuing the endless journey
from ink to pen to dot.
His hair now streaked with silver,
Myopia dims his sight.
His years in dots are measured,
subtracting from his life...
In the gathering indigo of evening
at the twilight of the day,
as ghosts of blue smoke be rising
from chimeys red and grey,
an ink-besmeared drawing board,
testament to lonely nights
of labor-intense endeavors
where his patient work is wrought.
The small key rolls the tumblers
of an oiled, aged lock
that opens the door to stillness.
He feels for the light switch
to vanquish the dark.
Alchemist of the stipple-pen
in his black kitchen of art,
pursuing the endless journey
from ink to pen to dot.
His hair now streaked with silver,
Myopia dims his sight.
His years in dots are measured,
subtracting from his life...
more wonders here at the Red Salon
Labels:
Changes,
poems,
poetry,
RobertTaylor.pen and ink
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