Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot...Bacchante

Bacchante with a Panther 1865

Of angels...

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

Alfred Kubin....."The Demiurge is a hybrid."

"The world is like a maze to me. I would like to find my way through it, and as a drafstman I should do so. Since I was a child, visions and evocative images have played an essential part in my life; they used to enchant me, and sometimes they made me tremble. I would like to keep a hold on these insubstantial, incomprehensible creatures. But the source of this phenomenon is of little concern to me. An irresistible impulse compels me to draw figures that spring from the shadows of my soul. How to pin down a constantly moving image in a drawing? By practice! Lost in contemplation but active as an artist, I analyze the vision, reconstruct it, and attempt to create a clarified image of my dream."

Alfred Kubin, Construction and Rhythm, 1924

the artists studio

"When I ventured back into the world of the living, I discovered that my god only held half-sway. In everything, both great and small, he had to share with an adversary who wanted life. The forces of repulsion and attraction, the twin poles of the earth with their currents, the alternation of the seasons, day and night, black and white - these are battles..."

from The Other Side - Alfred Kubin

Odilon Redon...

Dream Polyp
1891. Charcoal and chalk on colored paper, 19 x 14" (48.3 x 35.6 cm)

Ex libris...Max Klinger 1919

Follies...

Anonymous - ca 1850

Tripus Aureus of Michael Meier (1618)...

...

Paul Holman...Tara Morgana IV

Tara Morgana IV

1

The memory of a bewildering romance:
her tongue had turned white, the
ugly flight jacket bought the day
before had suffered a three cornered
tear. Her eye imposed the spectre
of a building upon a gap
in the city, but I found
nothing better to do than sketch
the map of mountains, fissures and
interconnected lakes which the action of
heat and sudden rain had developed
upon the path.

2

She gazed into the mirror treated
with seven excretions: ophidian skin, mottled
breasts and shoulders. The fumes settled
into the handsome animal mask of
my father, not as he was
in life, but as it had
proved convenient for me to represent
him to myself. By this time,
she was delusional, ransacking the house
in search of the one object
that caused her damage. I marked
a cross upon the tablecloth, then
added four dots at the intercardinal
points, connecting them with the looping
walls of that labyrinth through which
I follow him now.

3

She vanished among men of unguessable
temper, always older, who made no
remark about the tremble of the
skeleton at the foot of her
mattress.


From V

The transmission I failed to
summon again, as if it could
be recovered by walking in a
stupor beside that same river,
stinking of beer and mud,
above which I had glimpsed a
moth patterned city, my hand
upon the waist of the first
girl I tricked into performing
an action significant to me
(game to accept the hazard of
my company, the boredom).

Harpya...Raoul Servais 1978