Beauty desire
156 creative works found
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“Anyone who says that sunshine brings happiness has never danced in the rain”. This pretty much sums up how I feel about it! / 100% Photoshop This tutorial was a big help! Inspired by Summer Rain by ATB
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Yes I know what you’re all thinking…It’s ANOTHER PET DOG!!!!! Don’t panic you arty farty types…it’s only up for a limited time whilst I make some cards for a friends present. Then it will be strictly back to black polo necks and matching berets. Ciao baby. Postscript (Wow I literally just uplaoded this to make cards for a friends birthday. I had no idea people would comment on it! I feel compelled to point out – as those who know me understand – my humour is very dry and ironic. Don’t take anything I say seriously! Except for my Africa pics and this word – thanks…) :) I MIGHT ADD IF ANYONE WANTS TO BUY IT-GO ON, ON YA, YEAH NOW AND THAT!!!!!!!!!!!! COLLECT THE SET!!
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The two lovers enter each others mouths in a passionate exchange of lust and sexual energy. Shedding their clothing slowly, they progress to more and more heated exchanges of hand movements and mouth actions. Inside each other, they have found something so alluring and erotic that neither can go a day without the sensuous bodily rhythm they share.
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Portrait / Architectural / people/culture / Macro / Landscape / Still live / Animal / Nude/FineArt / SunsetCollection / Flowers / Model Maria Anne / Model Saskia Ying / Model Blondie / Model Tammy / Kids / The Book Of Love All The Materials Contained May Not Be Reproduced, Copied, Edited, Published, Transmitted Or Uploaded In Any Way Without My Permission. My Images Do Not Belong To The Public Domain. / © Antoine Dagobert: using this image for any purpose and in any way, without prior permission, may lead to legal action. —-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—--
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My new wolf friend seemed to like having his pictures taken – he stared “up close and personal” right into the lens. I believe it is only fitting to donate the proceeds of the sale of this image to a park that more than 200 wolves call home! :) Donation to charity / 50% of the proceeds of the sale of this image will be donated to Algonquin Park
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Sorry for the little amount of uploads iv been mega busy.
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The bridge reminds me of an emotion of solitude, which is not to be confused with loneliness. The former leads to an internal peace and being one with nature and oneself while the latter was a feeling of being forced to be alone, deprived of freedom and choice. I used to call this photo “Peaceful Bridge” until a young patient of mine (at the time she was nine years old) explored the difference between solitude and loneliness. When the image was presented to him as an illustration, he exclaimed, “Oh, solitude is peace, inner peace!” And the true title of the piece was born. Donation to charity / 50% of the proceeds of the sale of this image will be donated to Nature Canada
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My new friend posed and wanted me to get his face “right”, although I am still not sure that I did. I tried though. Donation to charity / 50% of the proceeds of the sale of this image will be donated to Algonquin Park
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Oils on Canvas. / Found a better pic of an old work, long sold. / Peace amidst atrophy; the oddness of it, a decaying world in which beauty sleeps, careless and comforted. Well certainly it affects us all in velvet lines and nails dug into palms and heights drawing us to their creeping, gorgeous edges. That final appointment trembling inside our fragile masques. This is where you are. This is what you have left. Courage as plagued and futile as fear, dignity an un-credible, absurd end point. The words as pale and as oxymoronic as a just war or a healthy wound. Asking and questing, snatching at our clothes, comfort me comfort me share this with me, oh you must feel what I feel. Here, I’ll take your hand and push with painful strength to the muscle and bone and webs of red red flesh stringy and old. My words are nothing to the swollen mass in my chest. Dipped and silvered with simple kindness and past love. If only to hear the morning in the pliable, ductile moments full of the scent of sex. When we lay giggling like children and sounding sane and just like humans, just like anyone, like anyone, like everyone else. We shall never say time on our hands again. Brittle and small like the singularity of your throbbing appetites. After the fall. Yes. Time on our hands is time IN our hands. Remember this, swept up in the kleptomaniac present. Hear it ticking behind you, within you rehearsed and constant in any heat you can find. Imagine the shocking thrill of your parents’ eyes locking for the first time. Entwine your consciousness with the first moment that you saw, breathless and startled, the beauty in your reflection. I want to share with you so much, so much; my heart is boiling full of knowledge, in a river where blood is born, an ivory string, a floating spinning ball in an ocean of involution, holding the world clenched in vehemently, intensely ALIVE wonder. Both faces of Janus for me, for you, a dark and hungry god. And these old wounds, deep and real and crusted with scars as they are, it is these that have created us, burned us out from the husks that we were. Phoenix mother, hands like clouds.
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The doe took a little time off from busy eating for the photo opportunity, although she didn’t want to give up the tasty colorful leaf. By now everyone who has ever seen my work knows that I’m absolutely “addicted” to develop a deep relationship and establish an intimate communication with mule deer (we don’t have a lot of white-tailed deer around here). Everyday I go out there in the early mornings, hoping to have a close encounter! :) Donation to charity / 50% of the proceeds of the sale of this image will be donated to Nature Canada
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Model/Makeup/Styling: Miss Jessy-Dee
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Charcoal and Chalk 89×68 cm not shown it anywhere as yet, still unframed and unsold. dumb really. hm. I used architecture a great deal in the earlier parts of my career (not actually very long ago now). I invented this piece – I was trying to get across some of the desolation I felt. I have since largely abandoned using structures in my works as central features, I find that nothing in my experience works as effectively as the human figure itself we say so much, so very much with the slightest curve of a pale finger. Still. Ruins are cool. You should see my lungs :-) Fear rant… yeh… When what happens is this: / A moment, an image. A shock of realisation – if that is what it is. / I lift a drink to my lips and there is a red stain on the glass – a viscous, crimson liquid. My pupils widen in shock and I drop the cheap tumbler from my fingers, spilling fluid down the front of my shirt and I think – I know - / For this, this is not sane this is a moment of insanity this is not real. This is so far from real that I am lost. / Can we – does it work in this way in this manner, are we aware? Is knowledge, awareness, a proof of sanity in itself? Is this absolute saturated fear a concrete ridge of rationale? Is it the pace the meter the rhythm of madness? / Can the insane know that they are insane? / OK, ok, yes. Yes. / One from another a step into the fucking light and find a handhold though it is sharp and rusted and tears the hand that grips it – and with creaking bones wrapped in thin flesh lever and pull until once more we are convinced… that this world that we see; that this light that spills over these keys from this screen is the wholeness and purity of the world. / The panic is an illusion a confabulation and is the evidence of wild instability in its very focus and sharp bite. The fear itself is the only answer. It is the depth of it the breadth of its reach in our hearts and fingers that we must, we must control and hold. / That the dark stain existed: that it can be seen by rolling eyes other than mine flashing white and weird in the night: this is not the question that tears. / It is the blind panic itself. Its own monster. Cruel and huge grinning up at me. What happens to us when we snap into focus and listen to the singing blood in our ears. When we know that for this moment despite anything else any appetite or false glow of reason any tight wires across our skins or brilliant lights drawn across our minds – that we can see in our bloody heads and straining fists that for this time this great time this whole moment this exactitude of clocks and paucity of stuttered beats that this is insane? / The thought itself tart and violent in our throats and hands. Defiled and filthy with awareness and self generation but / What / The / Fuck. / Because there is no lie greater and more true than one whispered to ourselves in the night – peeled back in the pain of fear in sweat and tremor in stretching BONE. In the deep moaning terror of silence. It is our own selves creeping behind us, in the shadows, the shadows, the empty stairs of our minds. / This is the horror the truth about black claws that drip and rip. / Of laughter misplaced, hollow. Shuddering and inexplicable. / It has never mattered; more than the soft flesh at our temples, beneath our wild, wild eyes, our wounds sure and sore rough beneath our fluttering eyelids. More than the depth of the shadows in the corners of our cold rooms. It is the cold / INSIDE US / That we must fear. / The sharpness of sudden breath, of smoke that is STILL. / The turn of a jaw the clench of old teeth, feet pressed together bones indeed that TWIST that were never meant to twist whose arc was defined and pure something, yes, / Some part ancient and chill in the deep shadows. / Utterly cognizant inflexibly real frozen in awareness crisp with line and light. That there are bodies hung from hooks somewhere in the skeins and flares and redness; torque and wire-tight flesh lies masques. That there are within us inside us each, monsters and horror. It is that these things that they are that they have us in their dry white grip (our own). / This is the truth. / Our perceptions matter not, never as deeply as our fear. Tease the fear from the hungry wetness of our heads pull it like an old suture from an infected wound; hot to the touch burning and sick. / It is this untamed cut and flare of pain. A bleeding eye that chatters its etiolated bleaching freedom and dawns starring our vision. Fired with life. This IS us, it defines us we are made from fear a mangled hideous groping. The spark in absolute darkness – / It is our genius. / It turns us flesh bone thought and gall into the depth and dismay of the real. The stain spreads impossibly around me, clutching at my skin. / I am out of my mind. I know secret things. I am more alive.
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The sisters knew they are beautiful so they posed for the camera for a long time until I got it “right”. :) Donation to charity / 50% of the proceeds of the sale of this image will be donated to Algonquin Park
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Softness of a rose.
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charcoal and chalk 90×60cm I have a fascination with architecture and history. I have been trying to fill all the holes in my knowledge of world history for the last hm twenty years yikes. It is very hard to find the kind of building that I would like to photograph or paint in Western Australia. We are just too young a country, and I feel the lack of history keenly at times.The room I took from an image I found online and the figure is of my own invention.I sold this piece quite early on in my career (not that long ago really) for far, far too little. But hey, I got to eat well that week… and… / BEING WRONG… I found this letter today. i wrote it 8 years ago, when i was working as a stock manager and fucking it up completely, costing the poor bastards who employed me so much money… though I tried SO hard. it is I believe an example of believing in the wrong thing… not myself, i mean… anyway… here… Hey, babe. / I actually went to work today. I am learning all about stock management… / Yes. / I know. / I looked in the mirror today and had to look again to make sure it was me, and then waved my arms around a bit and tried some unusual facial expressions. I have approximately the same haircut that I did when I was fourteen. At least I’ve stopped wearing the pastel shirts though. It was me. / In the mirror that is. / Blech. / Problems with despair. I have given up drinking now. Oh, yes. No more hangovers in the morning for Paul. I have looked that cold frosty beer with the condensation forming on the outside and the perfect crisp bitterness and just the right amount of head on a hot day when I’m surrounded by friends gazing out to sea after a hard day’s work and said “no thanks, no way man, I don’t want none of your sublime idealised taste, nor do I wish to partake of the feeling of absolute release that you can bestow upon me with the simple action of me drinking you.” / And I’m better. / I can now not only get, but also hold a job. / Yea, verily, and I don’t feel that I am particularly likely to get beaten up or fall down any stairs and getting arrested is not really on the cards any more either. / But I am the same. I really am the same. / I don’t feel sick as much, and I’m not quite as anxious because now I actually know what I did last night, but I am the same. / The cool thing about being an alcoholic was that there was always the feeling that somewhere in my future was a sober version of myself that was going to take over the world and if I wasn’t cursed with alcoholism, then (and when that curse was lifted and the gypsies got back to their wagons) there would be world conquering Paul. Paul that was unstoppable. A Paul that knew what it was that he was supposed to do. / This vision, I think, really did sustain me in my, um, darkest hour. Or hours. / “Ooh, just you wait, world.” I’d be thinking as I tried to comb the vomit out of my hair. “When I clamber and scuttle my way out of this ‘ere gutter,” I’d say as I eased myself gently back into it and settled in the mud, blood and refuse, “why I’m gonna be able to, you know, just like, know how to live man. There’ll be this job that’ll be just, you know, satisfying like. And this woman I’m going to have we-e-ll. Is she going to consider me doomed and scary? I think not. Is she going to adore me? I don’t think that she will have any choice in the matter. That world peace thing? Fixed. The ozone layer? Painted over, man, and all those hippy faux intellectuals? In death camps, man, cause I’ll be runnin’ things. / “Pulitzer prize? / “Mine. / “Swartzenneger? Little guy compared to me. / “Pink Floyd? U2? Who were they? / “Picasso? I can’t even spell Picasso. Is there an “f” in there, I dunno.” / Why would I be depressed if I didn’t drink any more? And why would I possibly be angry if there was no blood in my eyes in the morning? / Why, if I could keep my hand steady, I’d be guiding the universe. / But this, sadly, turned out NOT to be the case. / It turns out that I wasn’t really meant to do any of these things, and though some of them may have been possible for me when I was young enough to take the path that would lead to the kind of success I had always believed myself destined for, those years have already passed. Not only that but in the process of the very very very slow learning curve that showed me that it was not really a particularly good idea to drink all the time, my confidence, my faith in myself and the power that I believe that I once held in my hands from that, got beaten out of me with a big blood spattered stick. / The truth, of course, is that I am JUST ANOTHER GUY. / I am JUST LIKE EVERYBODY ELSE. It’s very hard to accept. / And like, now I don’t have any excuses either. / But it’s not really a conceptual thing at all. It doesn’t have very much to do with the IDEA that I’m an average person. / I’m learning to cope with that, just like Doogie Howser had to, y’know, when he was passed seventeen and they kept the series going anyway. / The romantic worldview is the problem, you see. Particularly when you apply it to yourself. It doesn’t really work, and just fucking can’t really, can it? / I had to take the batteries out of the clock in the lounge room. It kept saying “tick” at me. It just would not stop. / “Tick. Here goes some more of your youth Paul,” it said to me as I examined the hairs on my forearm in minute detail again, “and – yep, just thought that I’d remind you. Tick . There was some more. And what are you doing with it? NOTHING. Tick. What can you think of to do with it? NOTHING. Tick. Oooh, there’s some more just dribbling away. Tick.” / I didn’t throw it across the room though. / I wish I could do stuff like that. I’m so fucking reserved. Wild boy no longer. I don’t hit stuff no more, don’t party no more, my body won’t even let me fucking sleep in any more. / I keep waking up at six thirty. / What the fuck is up with that? / I wake up in the morning and there it is. / Sword of Damocles or hole in the bridge or spark just not firing in the neural network. I wake up, and I feel okay, I’ll be making plans, considering options, lying there in the dark (my room has no windows, you see. Insular, really.) And then it will well up inside me, a cold palm on my young man’s heart, and I remember this feeling of loss, of open-mouthed breathtaking, unsupported grief. That that is me and my decree, what I know understand and loath. / We have options. I think that I am useful enough to be able to possibly make a difference in the world. But in the action of giving up drinking I had to let go of the delusion and embrace the understanding that I had always had in the deepest part of me. I know that I will not make any difference, not really. I am not going to be a great anything. (I DO HOPE, I DO BELIEVE, THAT I WAS WRONG, THAT I HAVE MUCH YET TO DO. I AM GLAD THAT I LOST THAT JOB. AH WELL… love to all, paul.)
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DESIRE / I don’t do too many flower photo’s.. there are so many here that have an eye i never even dreamed of having.. but I have been saving this shot for a day when I felt as beautiful as this flower..unfolding to the limitless possibilities of life. /
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My dog River posing for a portrait in the snow. She has ALWAYS liked her picture being taken since she barely opened her eyes at two weeks of age. Her litter mates ran around when the camera aimed at them but she stood in attention every time a photo opportunity showed up! :) I’m sure she’d be glad that I donate the proceed of the sale of her photos to Nature Canada as she loves woods and her deer friends as much as I do! :) Donation to charity / 50% of the proceeds of the sale of this image will be donated to Nature Canada.
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/ When do you do what you need to do / When do you do what you want to do / When do you stop doing what they want you to do / When?
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Charcoal and Chalk. / Sold / 120 cm / Such beauty. So much… / It’s not really just that we have no idea what exactly we are supposed to be DOING, what acts are we to PERFORM, precisely, in this magnificent and small, relentless and fleeting life. / Each of us is trapped, each day, in a universally commonplace, utterly human crisis of freedom. We can only ever be sure that we will never know. Certainty of uncertainty. / I dunno if I am convinced. Do I have muesli? Toast? And even if I go into the kitchen and find out do I end something colossal and incomprehensible by choosing. And this is all made so much worse because I don’t have any muffins. I mean. Not even ONE. / Of course, well as everyone knows - / Every time we wake there is a vast, exquisite world. Endless and breathtaking. Deadly. / Within it lies our doom. And choice opening before us like blooms or wounds. Our every breath a mark in time that one less separates us from death. Each choice annihilates other choices as time forces us forwards into the conviction of uncertainty of life and the certainty of death. / Each nerve has hurt us, each loss… and each step, the cells in the joints of each finger forged and folded by ancient and forgotten beauty and pain: we have been wrought by billions upon billions of deaths a war endless and endless in its creation – “nature red in tooth and claw,” – destruction creating and shaping us. HUMAN and alive. Even Tennyson, who wrote that quote. Most of his other stuff was just crap. / I still can’t decide about breakfast. I already know. Coffee. Cigarettes. Sullen glance at food. / This miracle of chance that something, anything like us should come to exist! That we can know that is what we are. / We are a wonder of improbability! The processes that opened this world to us. / We are burned so deeply by what we are. Branded, yes. / That we can know that we will all die. That for each of us, under every ambition, love kindness and wisdom there lies this certainty. Cruelty and violence unfolding into our brimming dying minds. / We are such creatures, forever acknowledging that we must end, hard and real beneath the softness of skin. Thrashing and fighting with our foreknowledge with every action we take. Held against us in the deepest reptilian core of our wondrous hearts and minds. HELP! / WHAT DO WE DO! / This bright world where we know no place.
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by Paul D RobertsonPastels,65×50cms SOLD This piece is important to me in several ways. The model is a good friend of mine, a very beautiful but sad girl – I wanted to hold the moment of her, distill its essence – light and melancholia, the illusion of peace. / This piece is important to me in several ways. The model is a good friend of mine, a very beautiful but sad girl – I wanted to hold the moment of her, distill its essence – light and melancholia, the illusion of peace She had cancer, through which I am proud to say I was able to help her. / She has been in remission for many years now. At the time of this piece she was still suffering from the effects of her radio-therapy. She has had wodnerful successes and achievements since then, and her beauty shines with health; and with the sweetness that fills her heart.
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This is a little bridge in my piece of the woods after the first snow. All is calm and quiet. Even the deer seemed to be walking gingerly – not wanting to disturbed the “peace”. Some may even say that the picture portrays a feeling of “eerie-ness” but for me, it’s just the quietness and serenity. This is why I’d like to do my part to keep nature this way! :) Donation to charity / 50% of the proceeds of the sale of this image will be donated to Nature Canada
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A single yellow tulip in a sea of red
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The gorgeous male duck stood proudly as though it was summer while it was almost -40˚c! Donation to charity / 50% of the proceeds of the sale of this image will be donated to Nature Canada Thought the colorful duck would like to contribute to the protection of his natural environment. :)
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