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2379 creative works found
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The sound of birds early in the morning. Best music of all… Oil on Stretched Canvas – No Airbrushing 37 X 42 inches / 94 X 1107 cm Original : / $3000 AU – excluding p&p from Melbourne, Australia / contact my Agents at Gallery 112 / ....................................................................................
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Obey your masters. www.lindsayblamey.com.au
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buying some frogmen if you like to have the design smaller on the tee? check it here! / also available as a card or poster: colors: blue jean / royal blue / purple
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The Twelve Apostles in the Port Campbell National Park, Victoria, Australia.
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BUTTERFLY EFFECT:one action in time or a place, causes an effect somewhere else,because all is connected. / All things are connected in my artwork.See details….. / Use your imagination…. / T_SHIRT / / / ALSO AVAILABLE / BACCHUS’ KINGDOM /
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This was taken along the Princess Hwy,traveling to Bairnsdale, Victoria. It’s so sad to see the effects of the drought first hand – the paddocks lined with dead trees and in the fog were a testimony to our harsh weather
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woop
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T_SHIRT /
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Dying to be accepted / . / , / Please read my latest journal / . / . /
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Venezia.Italia sold / 2 matted prints 20×16 – 9×5 Markers market / 20×30” framed Matted print – Private client / 18-10×8” Prints – federation square / 10-5×7” Prints – Hawthorn art market / 2-20×16” Matted prints – Redbubble Veniceis a city in northern Italy, the capital of region Veneto, and has a population of 271,251 . Together with Padua, the city is included in the Padua-Venice Metropolitan Area . Venice has been known as the “Queen of the Adriatic”, “City of Water”, “City of Bridges”, and “The City of Light”. Music from Venice / / Venezia / / venezia II / / l’arc de triumphe,Treviso / / Treviso,Italia / / Music from Venice / / Venezia / / venezia II / / l’arc de triumphe,Treviso / / Treviso,Italia / Music from Venice Music from Venice / / Venezia / / venezia II / / Treviso,Italia / / l’arc de triumphe,Treviso / / Treviso,Italia / / / Venezia / / venezia II / / l’arc de triumphe,Treviso / / Treviso,Italia / sold / 2 matted prints
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killing a wild beast makes any man more cut throat in business, JUST DO IT !
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On my way home from the city wanted to capture the S curve in the Monash Freeway near East Malvern setup the tripod and aimed the camera through this bloody annoying fence, it was too high for my tripod so i had to zoom in a bit to miss the pailings. White Balance was tinkered with in Lightroom, 30 second exposure at f 11, focal length was was 37mm at ISO 100 Click here for my other images of Melbourne
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“Art Inspired by Song” / The Girl from Ipanema – Antonio Carlos Jobim,Frank Sinatra / Lyrics: Tall and tan and young and lovely / The girl from ipanema goes walking / And when she passes, each one she passes goes – ah When she walks, shes like a samba / That swings so cool and sways so gentle / That when she passes, each one she passes goes – ooh (ooh) but I watch her so sadly / How can I tell her I love her / Yes I would give my heart gladly / But each day, when she walks to the sea / She looks straight ahead, not at me Tall, (and) tan, (and) young, (and) lovely / The girl from ipanema goes walking / And when she passes, I smile – but she doesnt see (doesnt see) / (she just doesnt see, she never sees me,...) / T_SHIRT / / FROM MUSIC SERIES / MODERN TIMES / / / PLAY MY MUSIC / / / ALWAYS MY MUSIC!! / / / DO YOU HEAR ME? / / / DANCE /
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FROM BUDDHA SERIES: / MEDITATION / / / ILLUMINATION / / / OHM / / / NIRVANA /
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Click on the image below to see the entire artwork / Excerpt Two is a detailed section of the original painting “Finches On Parade” . Which is about the communal abstract chatter that one encounters when in amongst a crowd of like-minded personalities. / I have chosen not to emphasize the precise detail of each bird but rather their general shape as they caper around, to give the impression of constant movement. Oil on Stretched Canvas – No Airbrushing Original : / refer to See The Entire Artwork link above / contact my Agents at Gallery 112 / .........................................................................................
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FROM BUDDHA SERIES: / BUDDHA / / ILLUMINATION / / / OHM / / / NIRVANA /
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The dirty lord of the manor surveys his filthy domain. Too many nights raising hell worked a little all too well. Constructed a monument to denial and excess, sunk so low, crawled so far back there’s nowhere left to regress. If these walls could talk, they would tell a horror story; Never-ending winter, violence and infidelity. Shadows fall through broken panes. Careless words that are filled with hate. Just enough to keep it together, never enough to make it work. Follow the path of least expectance. I don’t hate you, I’m just removing an enemy. Remorse is for the dead, my enemy. Remorse is for the dead.
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André’s creation: eclectic pleasures
by Maxwell EdwardBlack and white keys, saxophone, guitar, everywhere. The music has much more magnificence than can be tried to be explained through words…
Black and white keys, saxophone, guitar, everywhere. The music has much more magnificence than can be tried to be explained through words. This jazzy rendezvous has always been André’s favourite ear-food. He just loves the way its beauty, splendour, radiance is ‘unleashed’. André stares at the canvas for over a dozen times. Here he is staring at the blank space which is future marvel…or was it to be past marvel? Had he missed his chance, missed the boat which would have sailed to sentimental stardom? He refuses to collaborate more than a sentence for any one idea. Any idea that deserves a sentence must deserve no doubt. Any canvas is only worth the greatest ideas. Two André’s exist; though only one at any one time. The withdrawn analytical front, designed for most occasions. On rare occasions the other character may appear, the intensive, massively determined André who acts on impulses. Impulsive André must be begged out. A Pandora’s Box of surprises, his job will at least never cease to astonish. “Dearest André, Through years have you befriended my son Louis, so therefore I am offering an opportunity to benefit both of our interests (with intent towards your gain). Litton inc., my company has stepped up towards mainstream success. We require visual arts for our newly bought edifice. I understand you have been painting for the eight years since high school. To your discretion I would like to require a painting; just one will suffice. I would like something vibrant and colourful, yet deep and meaningful; Contemporise to your own vision. Much thanks, Dr. Raymond Fonck.” The commissioned paper lies stuck on the wall. André has read it. Now it is time for the future. It has been too long sitting around (or rather bouncing around); too get too much productivity from anything. Someone once said to him that anything is good experience. True perhaps, although he prefers productivity, especially in a time of intensity such as this; three days left until confrontation. His vigilant eyes stroll around the room, searching for advice. He is not bored, nor has he painters block, for such a term does not exist and will not ever for him. His eyes strike the clock. The clock glares 5:48 pm back. What a disgusting fierce look it has. Not 5:45, nor 6:00 and only one uncomfortable minute in-between. For at this time these uncomforting three digits add to the frustration in the actual time. “Aw!” André suddenly realizes the importance of the time. It is the one factor which never seems to be on his side but actually encourages his total progress. It is an epiphany like that of a mother to the newborn. André decides to let his hands take / control. They are the secret key, (sometimes the gatekeepers of unleashing impulsive André) His dominant left one picks up the brush (over time it has made up for its fault of statistically losing him seven years). His right hand decides to lose cognition. It dips itself into a little puddle of Sangria oil paint muck. Than it flies onto the near-centre of the canvas, smeared diagonally. His left hand takes initiative once again, waving lines of smudge to and fro. Right hand brings more paint to its destination. Myrtle, Indigo, Olive, Magnolia…and no, not that…Yes, yes, even black! (Well seal brown to be precise). All of these contextually beautiful colours unleashed! There are no thoughts in André’s mind now. This is impulsive André now; organised thought is of little importance! That colour is important here. This colour is unimportant there. A few lines of any colour are important right here or there, but perhaps a darker colour is better. More negative space up and down the edges. Shape is forming. Lines are bolding. Complete non-representational form is diminishing. Visualizations; the visualized images in mind are being…unloaded bit by bit. It is coming about. What is it though? No one knows. If anybody could guess it definitely would not be André. André knows he has the power to bring out the reality in it though. In a seemingly paradox situation he must not connect to reality at the moment though. Now, after these hours of painting, André is in the painting. He would not know it has been hours besides the constant glare of the illuminating digital clock staring from across the room; it unconsciously processes its recognition into André. The phone screams out, ‘br-ring, br-ring!’ Like the other external matter it creeps into André, until finally its screams become too annoying to ignore. It’s too late now…impulsive André has vanished; his conventional counterpart has replaced him. The phone persists though. André decides to take it (typical for his returned mannerism). He dives across the room horizontally attacking the corner where that nuisance phone lies. ‘Aw, aw, aw, aw!’ A tube of paint has squirt from underneath his stomach. Agonising that his material friend can be so painful at times (like any of his life long friends). He picks up the phone; only the tone. He has missed whatever, whoever it was. Once again, missing the boat… Now thought and all that comes with it has returned. Why now out of all times possible? There is only sadness, misery, all this escalated from these small miniscule misfortunes; all has turned to turmoil! What can one do, when feeling like crawling into a hole? His secret minor disorders such as his claustrophobia would prevent him from crawling into that hole, even if he had one. At the moment everything feels like one big hole. Not surprisingly André’s eyes begin doing the only thing they know to do in times of unrest; wander. It is impossible to ignore what is there; it has been there all along, yet has never been seen. It is beautiful! It is splendour! It is radiance!! It is interrupted by another scream of ‘br-ring br-ring’. André picks up the damn phone. Without contemplation he whispers, “Sir, madam, I’m very terribly busy, could you perhaps call back sometime?” A deep sophisticated voice replies, “Raymond Fonck, André. Listen, I need to know about the progress of the painting. How is it going; ready to sell on Friday?” Many emotions garner at the speed of light inside André allows these emotions to clash inside of him. The painting; it is beautiful, splendour, radiance! How could he give it away now, after an indescribable series of emotional contributions? It is something that has not been attempted before; yet it is new but the expression of old. It is everything, at the moment, hopefully containing more interpretive inoculations for the future. It is a subject, of just some time, yet it contains a collaboration of detail separated from time. It is…once again interrupted by screams, this time of another sort; the infuriating talking of man. “André. Are you there?” Feelings of great rebellion sweep André off his feet. He knows how he will revolutionize his life, because after all; this painting has revolutionized his thought already. “Mister Fonck. I am so sorry. Some things have come over me…a type of sickness…although I am sure you are not aware of this mad syndrome I am suffering due to it. Well to the point, I must say I will not be supplying you with your wanted artwork. Thank you for your understanding. Hopefully we can collaborate something in future.” André hangs the phone up without replies, without a stated understanding from the mister Fonck. Without even the knowledge of acceptance or approval from the mister Fonck…it does not matter. All that matters is this new painting, this contemporised vision. It is everything. Most importantly of all, it is…unleashed!
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Taken in the bush near Alice Springs. Waiting for the sun to come up and saw this dead tree and just had to take a shot with all the colours behind it.
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Merimbula is on the east coast of Australia between Sydney and Melbourne.
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Bacchus (Roman Myth names), the god of wine, was the son of Jupiter and Semele. Dionysus (Greek Myth names), the god of wine, was the son of Zeus and Semele. He represents not only the intoxicating power of wine, but its social and beneficent influences likewise, so that he is viewed as the promoter of civilization, and a lawgiver and lover of peace. / T_SHIRT / ALSO AVAILABLE / AKINOLAUDE /
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a stunning glass paperweight from the island of murano, venice, italy…bellisima!
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