Art ghost
505 creative works found
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Lake Dumbleyoung in Western Australia. Holding the land speed record, Donald Campbell then broke another speed record over the surface of this inland lake. He was the fastest man on land and water but the lake later took his life.
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This is part of a series that I am working on. Called morning noon and evening. My thought is to have the same background image in 3 variations showing how one place can evolve and change moods. I have reasently created a second image / / Noon
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Charme profond, magique, dont nous grise / Dans le présent le passé restauré! / Ainsi l’amant sur un corps adoré / Du souvenir cueille la fleur exquise. / / - from “Un Fantôme” by Charles Baudelaire / (in Les Fleurs du Mal) / / / DETAILS / this digitalart picture’s size is 6000×4500px. / click a thumbnail for a real-size detail from the original / / / © 2007 Nodakami
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/ Evening
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All work in this portfolio is © Stephanie Rachel Seely. / These materials (images and poems) may NOT be edited, copied, reproduced, printed, distributed, displayed, performed, or used in any way, in whole or in part, without my written permission. Please respect copyright and do not save or upload any images or poems to Photobucket, Flickr, Myspace, Facebook etc. These creative materials are NOT public domain. Inspired by the end of Tim Burton’s ‘Corpse Bride’ film.
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View All Art » / Page 1 Page 2 Page 3 Page 4 Page 5 Page 6 / / Haunted is a self-portrait taken from artist, Jaeda DeWalt’s, Haunting Hands series and is a part of the DeWalt Gallery collection. / —-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-— / Available for sale as Laminated Prints, Cards, Matted Prints, Posters, Mounted Prints, Canvas Prints and Framed Prints / / Image featured in First Things group on 7-23-2009 / —-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-— / About This Image / Image originally photographed using a self-timer and Kodak CN400 film (black & white film that’s processed in C-41 chemistry). / —-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—- / This image is featured in Jaeda’s Surrealities calendar. / / / / View All Calendars » / —-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-— / Haunted The eyes do not lie / Weakening the surface of the social masks we wear / A bruised and battered soul can betray the prettiest smile / As the pain seeps through to the surface / Speaking volumes to our emotions and life experience © Jaeda DeWalt listen to Jaeda recite Haunted / —-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-— / This image is featured in Jaeda’s Artography Book! / / / —-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-- / You might also like . . . / View All Art » / Page 1 Page 2 Page 3 Page 4 Page 5 Page 6 / —-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-- / browse Jaeda’s photographic art by category: / dreamscapes, artistic nudes, couples, glamour, erotica, conceptual, sensual, portrait, spiritual, survivor art / /
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19×24 Colored pencil and this one’s not going ANYWHERE!! As I was working on this piece, there was such a feeling of calm and joy that every time I look at it.. that feeling comes back. This one visits various rooms in my house but mostly it stays nearby. White tigers are individual specimens of the ordinary orange tiger (Panthera tigris), with a genetic condition that causes paler colouration of the normally orange fur (they still have black stripes). The condition is well-documented in the Bengal tiger subspecies (Panthera tigris tigris or P. t. bengalensis), may also have occurred in captive Siberian tigers (Panthera tigris altaica), and may have been reported historically in several other subspecies. White pelage is most closely associated with the Bengal, or Indian subspecies. Tigers in India are recognized as a single subspecies, but within India, and throughout the tiger’s geographic range they tend to be smaller, darker, and more densely striped the further south they are found, the Sumatran and now extinct Javan and Bali races being the smallest. The Bengal is the nominate subspecies or species type, the definitive tiger. For many years it was the kind most commonly seen in the West. It was the standard issue zoo and circus tiger, and it was the Bengal tiger which conformed most fully to the image of a tiger in the Western psyche. It was the tiger of Kipling and the Raj. The Bengal tiger used to be known as the “Royal Bengal tiger”, after it was hunted by the Duke of Windsor when he was Prince of Wales. Siegfried and Roy sometimes refer to their white tigers as “royal white tigers”, possibly because of the white tiger’s association with the Maharaja of Rewa. The French language version of the white tiger Wikipedia is titled “Tigre blanc royal” or “Royal white tiger.” The white individuals do not constitute a separate subspecies on their own. They have pink noses, white to cream-coloured fur, and black, grey or chocolate-coloured stripes, grey mottled skin, and ice blue eyes. White tigers tend to be born larger and attain larger than average adult sizes than orange tigers which do not carry the white gene. This may have given them an advantage in the wild. White gene carriers, or heterozygotes, also tend to be larger than average in size. K.S. Sankhala, who was director of the New Delhi Zoo in the 1960s, said that one of the functions of the white gene may have been to keep a size gene in the population, in case it was ever needed. In the wild white tigers bred white for generations. It is a myth that white tigers did not thrive in the wild and India once planned to reintroduce them. The condition occurs when inbreeding — usually between parents and cubs — produces offspring with two copies of a recessive gene. This is rare in nature, but with their unusual colouration, white tigers have become popular in zoos and entertainment that showcases exotic animals. For example, the magicians Siegfried and Roy are famous for having used trained white tigers in their performances. However, inbreeding often also leads to birth defects1, which makes breeding for white colour controversial. Although it is actually possible to create white tigers without inbreeding, such cases are exceedingly rare. Nevertheless, there are several hundred white tigers in captivity worldwide, and their numbers are on the increase. The French language version of the white tiger Wikipedia article puts the number at 800. There are about 100 white tigers in India. The modern population includes both pure Bengals and hybrid Bengal–Siberians, but it is unclear whether the recessive gene for white came from any of the Siberian ancestors, or only from Bengals. Another genetic condition makes the stripes of the tiger very pale. White tigers with this condition are called snow-white. (information from Wikipedia) Complete 1995
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A foggy morning amid the Inverleigh Flora and Fauna Reserve, just West of Geelong. Pentax istDS camera Please feel free to browse through my website: Phil Thomson IPA Photography I hope you enjoy the experience.
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I Died many Times Before… First time I remember, I was still a toddler / sitting in the morning sun, on the concrete floor. / My grandparents’ courtyard in Salamiyeh. / I watched, fascinated, as the massive snake / made its way from the roof / down the wall in front of me. / I held a long stick in my hand, tapped / the giant head as it slithered closer. Second time, a year or so older, also in Salamiyeh. / It struck on a starry summer night. / I was playing barefooted on the patio. / Mother came running to my screams. / Sobbing, I told her a big butterfly bit my foot. / I pointed to where it ran off, watched / as she grabbed a straw broom, killed / the venomous desert scorpion with repeated blows. / I vividly recall her rushing around with one shoe on, / the other missing, laying me in a stroller, / running down darkened streets to the emergency clinic. I also died at age five, along with my mother and sister. / It happened on the two-lane Hama-Homs highway. / Mother unintentionally turned the steering wheel / as she twisted her body to chide us / for backseat bickering. No guardrails. / Nothing but protruding rocks all the way / down the steep drop-off. My first summer in college, I died in New York City. / Muggy night, uptown Manhattan, a block away from Broadway / in front of the big Cathedral. I had my arms up, / as the man who had just asked for a light / pressed the tip of his knife into my ribs. Years later, on a misty morning on Texas Highway 87, / I fell asleep at the wheel. / I had worked through the night in Victoria, / and was looking ahead to my bed in San Antonio. / My Chevy Blazer slowly drifted left / into the path of the oncoming truck. Those worlds / continue without me. / My tombstones there / mark ends of times I knew. In this one, grandmother Um Sami suddenly appeared. / Rounded boulder hoisted high. Arms fully extended. / How she lifted it? How she took dead aim, and launched it / smashing the serpent’s head? / I do not know. I was still conscious. / I do remember clearly / the terrified look on my mother’s face. / How her voice trembled as she pleaded / with the nurse to be careful. She was afraid / the syringe’s needle was going to puncture through / my tiny toe. Mother slammed the brakes as she forcefully corrected. / Car came to a screaming, precarious halt / in a cloud of swirling dust. / We stayed parked at the side of the road for a long time. / Her hands shaking, she gave us grapes, / while she collected her frazzled self. / She swore never to drive again. / Never did. “Let the creep go”, the second robber, / who had just cleaned my pockets with swift efficiency, / told the one holding my life at the tip of his knife. / They took pity on me when I told them / there was nothing in my wallet. / They slipped it back. Walked off. / It took my rage weeks to subside. I could see the whites of the wide-open eyes / of the truck driver, as I twitched awake! / He was already moving to his left / to avoid hitting me. But my reflex was to jerk the wheel / to my right to get back into my lane. / I also stomped the brakes. / We came within a hair of a head-on collision, / as he swerved back into his lane. / That was when time switched / to slow motion… / Me sitting still. / Blazer skidding sideways / on the wet grass / along the shoulder. / Dull-black asphalt road passing / in front of me. / No sound. / Finally, / everything / coming to absolute / rest. In this one an invisible hand / still cradles / my bones. © Assef Al-Jundi
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The ring is on my hand, And the wreath is on my brow; / Satin and jewels grand Are all at my command, / And I am happy now. And my lord he loves me well; But, when first he breathed his vow, / I felt my bosom swell- For the words rang as a knell, / And the voice seemed his who fell In the battle down the dell, / And who is happy now. But he spoke to re-assure me, And he kissed my pallid brow, / While a reverie came o’er me, And to the church-yard bore me, / And I sighed to him before me, Thinking him dead D’Elormie, / “Oh, I am happy now!” And thus the words were spoken, And this the plighted vow, / And, though my faith be broken, And, though my heart be broken, / Here is a ring, as token / That I am happy now! Would God I could awaken! For I dream I know not how! / And my soul is sorely shaken Lest an evil step be taken,- / Lest the dead who is forsaken / May not be happy now. ... Edgar Allan Poe Canon 300D // 3 frame HDR/tone image The lighthouse keepers cottage, at The Narrows, Pt Malcolm, South Australia
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Another contiuation of a mash up of the childrens story I am working on… Peace out…
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There is no political solution / To our troubled evolution / Have no faith in constitution / There is no bloody revolution We are spirits in the material world / [Are spirits in the material world / Are spirits in the material world / Are spirits in the material world] Our so-called leaders speak / With words they try to jail you / The subjugate the meek / But it’s the rhetoric of failure We are spirits in the material world / [Are spirits in the material world / Are spirits in the material world / Are spirits in the material world] Where does the answer lie? / Living from day to day / If it’s something we can’t buy / There must be another way We are spirits in the material world / [Are spirits in the material world] [Are spirits in the material world…] / Copyright sting
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Model – justmeina Horse – confused_stock Background – TimeWizardStock Picture – night_fate_stock Picture Frame – guteCharlotte stock Inspired by: / America – Horse With No Name On the first part of the journey / I was looking at all the life / There were plants and birds and rocks and things / There was sand and hills and rings / The first thing I met was a fly with a buzz / And the sky with no clouds / The heat was hot and the ground was dry / But the air was full of sound I’ve been through the desert on a horse with no name / It felt good to be out of the rain / In the desert you can remember your name / ‘Cause there ain’t no one for to give you no pain / La, la … After two days in the desert sun / My skin began to turn red / After three days in the desert fun / I was looking at a river bed / And the story it told of a river that flowed / Made me sad to think it was dead You see I’ve been through the desert on a horse with no name / It felt good to be out of the rain / In the desert you can remember your name / ‘Cause there ain’t no one for to give you no pain / La, la … After nine days I let the horse run free / ‘Cause the desert had turned to sea / There were plants and birds and rocks and things / there was sand and hills and rings / The ocean is a desert with it’s life underground / And a perfect disguise above / Under the cities lies a heart made of ground / But the humans will give no love You see I’ve been through the desert on a horse with no name / It felt good to be out of the rain / In the desert you can remember your name / ‘Cause there ain’t no one for to give you no pain / La, la …
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Digital / drawing by May Ann Licudine
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this time with people ;-) taken with a nikon D80 with a nikkor 18 – 135 mm lens on a tripod ISO: 100 / shutter speed: 2.2 sec / f/stop: f/9 / focal length: 18 mm
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Copyright of Poisonlolly media is paper. And I only use pen for the whole creation. Except for the eyes, I use colored pencil to do her make up :)) This illustration was made in 2008. It was inspired by vampires and wraith. Featured in THE TORCH Sept 12, 2009
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Several months ago I was commissioned to do another cover for Conscious Living magazine here in Australia. The theme was to focus on “wild” and in particular….HORSES! / My first thoughts turned to a good friend and talented photographer here on Redbubble – Gene Praag who regularly captures amazing images of the wild horses in his home state of Utah. / And so I asked this fellow bubbler would he be able to help me with REAL wild horse images to work with, as opposed to me taking shots of local domestic horses and pretending they were “wild”. / From this collaboration I generated several pieces of art, and had loads of fun, and I have to say, both Gene and I were surprised at the magazine’s final choice of one of the less artistic images for their cover this issue….. (and yes, before anyone comments, I reckon Equus is spelled differently…lol) so I decided to share with you, one of the other images created from our joint efforts. SO thank you most sincerely to Gene for his generosity and kindness and for being so helpful in this project…... if you haven’t already done so, please take a moment to check out his amazing portfolio of images featuring the wild horses of the USA captured in their natural habitat, and being …... wild and free….. along with many other beautiful landscapes and subjects….. Thanks so very much Geno! You are a legend!
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Many thanks for viewing.
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i have decided to try a whole new approach to my art. here, i’ve tried something new. perhaps it will be the start of yet another revolution… this is a digital painting, done in photoshop cs3. / 28 august 2009.
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“I stared because their faces, so different, so similar, were all devastatingly, inhumanly beautiful.” ~Bella Swan, Twilight, Chapter 1, p.19 Wow…I am soo humbled from all the features received on this oil painting, and it’s not even finished. Thank you sooo much. It’s truely inspiring! xo myspace.com/Artistmind / Sylvia Lizarraga ( photography permission granted & credit to: / Deviantart ~ STUPID cupid..III by ~kontes-zoya-ossupov / model ~ Hande g. (unfinished artwork, 18×24” on particle board ) /
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Taken in what is deemed as a real “Ghost Town” in Ballycroy, Ontario, Canada. Once a thriving, hard drinking milling town back in the late 1800’s. All that’s left is just a few scattered houses and foundations. / A very eerie place to visit.
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Ghostly HDR image of interior of old cottage building in West Ayrshire, Scotland. Nikon D5000. 18-55mm. AP mode. CS3 and Photomatix to complete.
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