Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Friday, February 18, 2011
she don't wander in...don't wander in here, she...
the direction of the eye, so misleading
the defection of the soul, nauseously quick
Saturday, February 12, 2011
manson's watercolors
somewhere between one corpse and another,tired of painting his own face, brian warner aka m.m. painted tilda swinton who-i must admit - is phenomenal human specimen to paint, to watch and to admire. i mean if i didn't have anything else to do i would paint her all the time.if there was a god, he would definitely create tilda swinton as a prototype of all women.yet, this is not my favourite manson's painting.portrait of jonbenet ramsey is. her sad blue eyes stare at me now every day,and yes, it's frightening, she's like a fourth member of the family now,silent and absent.rest in peace jonbenet.
Friday, February 11, 2011
a case of you
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| the kids are allright (2010) rez. lisa cholodenko |
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| high art (1998) rez. lisa cholodenko |
oh I am a lonely painter
i live in a box of paints
i'm frightened by the devil
and I'm drawn to those ones that ain't afraid
i remember that time that you told me, you said
love is touching soul
surely you touched mine
cause part of you pours out of me
in these lines from time to time
(j.mitchell)
Thursday, February 10, 2011
ty cieniasie
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just like cats sniffing around before laying their head down. with no rights attached and no advantages. with their pre-fabricated thoughts and synthetic moves they might be anybody. goddess of dawn without age roots and dispositions. winged man ,a dead warrior telling stories with no beginning middle or end. disillusioned so long time ago resenting all the kindness half way through the show they turn off the lights only the clean music follows down the cinder alley two charged particles of the sun interacting with earth atmosphere until city after city is burned |
Monday, February 7, 2011
tamarisk sketches
 the other day all nearly unseen. balance of the right hand and the unexpected warmth - side effect of chemical breakdown. each of us made to themselves fading distinctively in cold water. there’s a life underneath your feet below the frozen ocean. you can still hear your heartbeat resonating on the surface. one eight four eleven white desert marching inside you through inevitability of failure. elaborating construction of your other self. unknown. unmet. all the rivers join someplace, aimlessly ,without time. you take stop, fascinated and disappear into quiet. |
Sunday, February 6, 2011
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