Clash
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Kenneth Fitzpa...
United Kingdom
209 creative works found
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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 The withdrawn analytical front, designed for most occasions.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 during evening light where the calm waters meet an impending storm.
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urban spaces series…......
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Iconic imagery is one thing that so many people, no matter what generation, race or origin can recognize at first glance.
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Digital art creation of Spring clashing with ole Man Winter / / /
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This makes sense if you’re a Clash fan. The song is “Guns on the roof”. If you buy this than please email me a copy of you enjoying your tshirt. / desmith@svsu.edu Thank you -Please Believe myspace.com/pleasebelieveinc
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Punk’s not dead. It’s just been kicked repeatedly in the groin since 1982. Buy this t shirt and help keep it real. jL
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Gladioli dancing in the sun in an English cottage garden. Watercolours, 10×14 inches.
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An old work, 2006. One of my personal favorites. Model: http://lilbittydemon-stock.deviantart.com Thanks for looking :)
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The Clash
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Clash T shirt
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This a drawing I did of my kitty, Misty 28.05.06 using soft pastels on a3 paper.
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Sticker from Joe Strummers guitar
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Painted this today, 10.02.2009. This is part one of a two parter collection. I painted this, then painted part two over it. Part two titled, In the Midst of Love – The End I used watercolour on double thick canvas 12×12 In the Midst of Love – The End
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Moon, stars, lightning and a street light all compete
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featured in I Got the Music in Me 05-18-2009 / featured in Globes, Sphere’s and Curves 04-25-2009 / featured in Digital Abstracts & Patterns 04-15-2009 / featured in the group CORE 03-27-2009 MUSIC Now the king told the boogie men / You have to let that raga drop / The oil down the desert way / Has been shakin to the top / The sheik he drove his Cadillac / He went a cruisnin down the ville / The muezzin was a standing / On the radiator grille / Shareef don’t like it / Rock the casbah / Rock the casbah / Shareef don’t like it / Rock the casbah / Rock the casbah / By order of the prophet / We ban that boogie sound / Degenerate the faithful / With that crazy casbah sound / The bedouin they brought out / The electric camel drum / The local guitar picker / Got his guitar picking thumb / As soon as the shareef / Cleared the square / They began to wail / Shareef don’t like it / Rock the casbah / Rock the casbah / Shareef don’t like it / Rock the casbah / Rock the casbah / Now over at the temple / Oh they really pack em in / The in crowd say its cool / To dig this chanting thing / But as the wind changed direction / The temple band took five / The crowd caught a wiff / Of that crazy casbah jive / Shareef don’t like it / Rock the casbah / Rock the casbah / Shareef don’t like it / Rock the casbah / Rock the casbah / The king called up his jet fighters / He said you better earn your pay / Drop your bombs between the minarets / Down the casbah way / As soon as the shareef was / Chauffeured outta there / The jet pilots tuned to / The cockpit radio blare / As soon as the shareef was / Outta their hair / The jet pilots wailed / Shareef don’t like it / Rock the casbah / Rock the casbah / Shareef don’t like it / Rock the casbah / Rock the casbah / Shareef don’t like it / He thinks it’s not kosher / Rock the casbah / Rock the casbah / Shareef don’t like it / Fundamentally can’t take it. / Rock the casbah / Rock the casbah / Shareef don’t like it / You know he really hates it. created with Incendia
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Ultra Fractal 5 /
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Chickamauga Battle Reenactment
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Debbie Harry – Blondie (I’m Always Touched By Your) Presence, Dear
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well… this one is bound to piss someone off. and good. seeing as how there’s really very little left of punk anymore, a little off-pissing is probably sorely needed. / The idea has been bumping around in my head for a while now, the ‘LDN TXTNG’ bit… I finished it and was toying with trying to figure out how to realistically fit an iPhone in there when the ‘rock band’/’guitar hero’ thing struck me. The whole concept is a result of me being (probably too) critical about trendy crap and getting old & cranky on top of it. (I’m reminded of when I was 13 and that old guy telling me that Chuck Berry could play circles around Eddie Van Halen. What a kook!) / I know I’m playing into the whole ‘nothing is real’ bit by blaspheming like this, but the point is more important to me. I’m so tired of the amount of UNreality that we’re fed every day. Just like anyone can be a photographer, anyone can be a ‘rock star’. Though the games don’t seem to include the clap or heroin overdoses. Maybe the 2.0 versions will. / BAH! I’m just ramblin now… and remember kids… don’t forget to LOL! (lol!) click image for full effect this one is for the purists
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