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johnedwardgord...
Canada
978 creative works found
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A Clockwork Crow by Paul D Robertson Pastels, 100×85cms Winning Piece, 2002 Wongan Hills Art Awards Sold. This piece is important to me. It provides a clear example, perhaps the most clear I have, of the narrative symbolism that lies at the core of my work. I am an existentialist. This sounds complex (it isn’t), and a lot of people don’t know what it means exactly so I will explain briefly. It comes basically from working out how to live in the absence of a belief in God; from atheism. / If God is removed from our ideas about what constitutes our lives, then it would seem that what we are would be, by that very fact, diminished. It denies us the framework that has traditionally defined our place in the universe, and it also appears to deny what generates the fundamentals of our morality. I don’t believe that this is the case. Existentialism means that we exist, and that is all. There is no afterlife in this belief, no final judgment or even, for that matter, a judge. It doesn’t allow for the reassuring presence of a mighty being watching over us and directing the events of the world. So it seems that the meaning of our lives is less. But it works differently for me. / That our lives have a finite and absolute end does more than leave us homeless and lost in the void. The only thing that is certain in our future is the surety of our own death. This sounds bleak, and in many ways it is. But what it also does is apply to our lives and existence an ultimate importance to us, a preciousness that comes from the very belief that life is fleeting. It gives each moment that we live power and BEAUTY because this is all we have. This is what most of my work is about. / Clockwork Crow is a potent example. I use narrative symbolism because of its clarity to me personally, and I try and accomplish beauty through aesthetics as part of the narrative: this is where I find meaning in my life – in the exquisite splendour of the instant that we exist. / People have different interpretations, always – art is subjective after all. But what I intended when I painted it was very clear to me. The beautiful girls holding each other… it is the perfect and absolute moment. They are doomed to change and this is what defines their beauty and gives it value and importance. They are comforting each other in the face of this. / The crow in the window symbolizes change and death. The clock represents the inevitable passage of time. We are trapped in the moment, if it really is all that we have. If religion – God – is removed from belief: then we must find comfort and solace, we must find MEANING in each instant we exist. It is THIS that constitutes out lives.
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www.lindsayblamey.com.au
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Designed as a special request for a guy who doesn’t like pigeons. He’s not the only one : kill the pigeons
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This is a rather old image from the bottom of my big box of negatives that I’m slowly converting to digital files. I had been out on a fashion shoot and at the end of it I found I had 2 frames left. So on the way home with the model I stopped in at Graffitti Hall of Fame in Alexandria which is one of the inner city suburbs of Sydney. In this digital age its hard to imagine having faith in taking a good picture with only two goes at it but there you are! I got the model on to the roller and shot one from the front and with the very last frame shot this one. I hope you like it as much as I do. :) This is what it looks like framed
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Part 4 of Once Human series. / Thanks very much for viewing. -CG
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The little friends came to visit Doodle town, / they transformed the place and brought back the colour, / they were special , they spread their magic throughout the land / and now once again there is peace. This is a special tribute for Udonchow whose words of wisdom and unyielding support during the last few weeks has made her very special to me. / Thanks Ellen xx
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www.lindsayblamey.com.au
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Completed in 2004, age 17 Been awhile since I have uploaded an artwork.. I have several drawings and paintings from highschool, but I just haven’t had much time for scanning; or in this case as it is a very large painting (40” x 30”), photographing and skewing in photoshop… This is a slightly cropped version of the original, due to the limits of my camera. My original signature got cropped out so I had to insert a new one in photoshop; in the original it is not actually located there. The two subjects are posed in similar positions, each having a dark, circular central focus., Both images have lines above and surrounding the centres, which draw attention towards the centres. The vertical composition help strenghten the feeling of height given by the vertical lines. Both subjects are organic, however one, the eye, has straight lines and geometrical shapes, while the rose has curvy lines and organic shapes. In the eye, the centre is literally dark, while in the flower the darkness is created by shadows. Medium: Acrylic paint See my other dyptich: / Works by Category / Featured/Popular / Origami/Ori-plastic / Drawings,Paintings and Graphics / Flowers, Trees and Plants / Water and Waterscapes / Scenery / Light, Shadow, and Reflections / Living Creatures / Human Portrait / Japanfluence / Canada / Still Life More Paintings: / / / / / / / Sample Black and White Art Works: / / / / Sample Flower Art: / / / / For more images please visit the category links at the top.
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www.lindsayblamey.com.au
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I captured this photo today after the rain had cleared. I used a longer exposure, tripod and two ND8 filters & a polarizer for the effect. / Thanks for viewing :)
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I took this photo during the winter of 2006, I just found it again on my computer and thought I’d share.
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my new boots Margpie Style…. mixed media collage
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Pastels on Paper 120×90 cms / Sold the original. Watch hands on an ancient clock, slow but still moving. Clicking in the dark when there’s no one home. Echoing in a hall with light spilling in through the frosted glass. Like when the game is over and it’s time to hold and time to kill, the very very last drop of milk splashes onto the page and the very very dark blue moves in the corner. Walking with me to the end of the isle pewter cups full of thick liquid that catches in the back of your throat and makes you sputter like a fire or a kerosene heater or a lamp or an old sick car with students in it too dumb / to know / not to try. / No time to write or think or curl my fingers around, a dove’s leg curse or a jewel. Pierced, oh sure, like that a pinprick in an open sky, a babbling tower. Water from the sky from the ocean from the heart, clipped, triggered and muzzled, strapped to the enormity of it. Colour-blind and balanced, capsized and immersed, a bridge that’s a seething landscape. / Titan for a Tuesday, dry as a bone wrist or a Doll’s house in the desert. / It smells like strength and vicissitude with only what you want and a cold turned spoke. / Staggering and with a head full full of light, only small acts of kindness, what else is there to find for us silent at the edge of the day? / So then it’s only you and me in a saturated blue, long kisses hard into each other / sweat and confirmation, an engine of conviction, a weapon of devolution. / A slow turning and immense mill with a lidless sacrifice and an angry wasp, pulled from one strung heart sharp over ribs. There’s only breath and life / and no promises from either, go guarantor for me that I’ll be alone, / prove me right with skin that colour, hand that soft, a zealot with a placard walking in the rain. / Drama and faith are such poor excuses. / Only hints and grace, something gone, out into the soft and never ending night with a half heard cry. / I’m sad for you, baby. / I know. I know. / I saw the tremors and the shadows in the kitchen. Like leaves and seeds bent around a chain link fence on a quiet day. It’s only me, just me, that’s all. / I can come and visit and hold your head up for you while you try and sing, like before with both hands that you pushed to my throat. / Wait for me, oh wait for me baby. / I know my arms are empty and ugly and I have hard edges and sway and rock and twitch twitch twitch and I’m sorry for all these things and for the old woman made up for no-one and for the beautiful girl so autistic she couldn’t see and for the tiny mad child that I was / and for the tiny mad child that you were, dirty hands and sweet, / sweet, / bruised skin. / Twelve o’clock on a Friday night, / Run my hand down the side of my face. Crack each finger individually. Give up, give in. Whisper and kiss the side of my mouth. Someplace or something warm. It’s okay. / It is.
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A few months ago the State of Michigan was trying to pass a bill that would tax service based companies (as if this state didn’t have enough trouble, now its trying to eliminate any opportunity for any new business to relocate here). To help everyone concerned, the legislator published a long list of service’s that would be affected. Out of the hundreds of services, one came to my attention that, of course would directly impact me, that of the service of Phrenologist. / Now I know that not many people read the entire list and, since the bill did not pass (along with hundreds of other bills, like the state budget) I suspect that I must be the only practicing Phrenologist left to worry about such an outcome. True I am a bit more advanced in my profession than my predecessors, as I am a “ Kirlian Ultra Phrenologist “ or “ KUP ” for short, still I am taken aback that this state should single out such a severely depleted profession as mine for it’s grossly undermined tax base. / I fully understand that many still hold a prejudice against this career path for cutting off Mozart’s head however, I must point out that we did return it a little later (100 years later) after studying it carefully for any signs of “bump” genius. I also would point out that this act was not much different than that of da Vinci yanking out corpses to do his drawings or, some other early physicians to, ahem “ advance medical knowledge”. / I know too that the “winners” in history get to re-write it to reflect their own virtue, while castrating the losers to oblivion, or worse, implied villainy of the meanest kind (especially in western anglo-cized medicine (chiropractors notwithstanding)). My contention is though, that we, as a group of ” Phrenic Scientists “ were essentially correct in our basic understanding and concepts except we didn’t have “fancy MRI’s” or “Blood Flow Scans” or “BIO Feedback Wave Analysis” or “Computers” to pinpoint neuron centers of brain activity associated with love or, hate or genius, etc, etc, etc. / Now, of course, I singularly, have elevated this way beyond their mere colloquial ” silicone mechanical diagnoses “, to the transcending realm of true; “ Kirlian Associated Kuantum Encephalicalogy “ or ” KAKE “ for short. Therefore I humbly submit this graphic representation as one of my first attempts in “ Kirilin Transcendental Multidimensional Kuantum Phrenology 2008 “. Singed EZ Grant, “ Kup Kake “. / Music link “Prelude” -> http://www.youtube.com/user/ezgrant
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www.lindsayblamey.com.au
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I was sitting on a beach in the freezing cold on the Scottish Island of Cumbrae, waiting for a Trident nuclear submarine to pass me on its way to the Faslane sub base further up the estuary of the Clyde, when I was rudely interrupted by these geese who seemed to be having an argument…
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This is where my university is located. It’s built into the old tram sheds at Inveresk, Tasmania. Great place to find inspiration.
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Pastels / 140×55 cm / Firstly, I would like to display a poem, / Transcendence! By C.C. Arshagra. Inspired by the pastel creation titled “Seething Landscape”: / by the artist “pauldrobertson” I believe time can heal the impossible / And open up the realms of storm / To finding the peace of soul’s reasoned being Enter the mind is torn together by form / The agony of bones discovering / The wisdom of the wild sky’s breathing And there is no more intelligence of fighting / When madness fills up the void with laughter / And transcends the broken world With a wholeness so unlimited © Copyright 2/25/2008 C.C. Arshagra From “The Oxygen Garden / Love Nature Poetry” press22 Manuscript by C.C. Arshagra (Soon to be a published work) HERE is the link to the rest of his powerful and original work on redbubble -. C.C. Arshagra This piece is fairly definitive of one of my major themes. The figure in the foreground is me, and I am looking at my watch. This is meant to be in contrast to the figures floating into the sky and the incoming storm. It is about subjectivity – in the end, we are all ultimately self-involved as it is our own perceptions that govern us and we can never know another. I am also, always, always, obsessed with time. It seems such a strange thing to me. The piece has a bit of history too – one of my closest friends was interested in buying it, but at the same time I had no money to frame a similar piece that I wanted to enter into a competition. SO I made him a deal – if he paid for the framing of the other piece I would enter it into the competition and if it won he could have this one for the price of the framing. If it didn’t win then I would give him a discount. Oddly, it won, so this pierce is now in Tim Jackson’s possession. The sister piece is called “Harbinger” and is on the same gallery in my webpage www.pauldrobertson.com / . It won the Katanning art award in 2002.
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I did this painting doing a vacation well spent in Ocean City Mairlyn, it stayed cloudy the 7 days I stayed there. I kept hoping for sunshine everyday but every day after the rain I’d walk the beach in a greyish-blue mood and my wife and I would gaze out over the ocean as we walked, trying to leave our work behind. / the painting was one of my first on line selling 137 copies.
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Pastels on paper 120×70 cm Sold it and this is the highest res copy I have crrrrrrap. What the fuck is going on? What are we doing? How can we ameliorate our lives with simplicity when we know what we know? Or think we know. / Shit shit shit shit shit shit. / I have a huge lack of understanding. / That sentence was supposed to continue, but stopped somehow. Burns me up. You even have Cat In The Hat Pajamas, and I mean, how cool is that? / Excuse me, I just thought I would skirt ambitiously around the subject for a while. I have no idea what to say and am feeling a little romantically disturbed by attempting to begin to break my silences begin to gnaw at the old gauze, reeking and tough, that covers my lips. / So. Today is a day for honest extremity. Makes me feel more at home all of a sudden. I feel much more comfortable when everything confuses me. I always feel like some small and viciously real creature is crawling up the back of my scalp and whispering that it’s all a lie when I have some semblance of feeling in control. / Nothing like a spanner in the rabbit. / I have climbed my way back into my safety haven and behaved like I had supposed, had always supposed that I am supposed to. Security wraps its warm but a little spiky arms around me once again. I’m so desperately trying to sell out that I even manage to forget the oaths I swore to myself when I was a teenager… and when they creep into the back of my mind I slap them around with a few extra anti depressants and paint a happy picture (I am lying why am I lying I cannot and have never been able to cheat with the lines and colours of my work. They betray me in acuity, in dread. And the meds do nothing. I have taken none for months at a time, I have taken ten times the dose for months. No difference. Side effects. Shakes, rashes. A median of despair punctured with pinhole panic; with sobbing collapse. Degrees of sickness inviolate and unaffected.) You actually know what I’m talking about. How strange. Catharsis rears its unlovely head. / I have desires I can’t even begin to describe. There is something about losing your mind that is more real than anything else, more tempting and free; a claw hook in the back of a healthy brain. / I never thought you took me seriously. (Why would you how could you why would anyone?) / I have hesitated and stuttered and smoked too much and stared at you when you weren’t looking. Allowed myself to pine. / We are fools in a world that does not tolerate fools. / I have looked and looked, and I always thought that feeling this way and being trapped by the sadness, the sadness… / I thought – that this was a common excuse for not living. Not doing and earning like everyone else. / It isn’t a common excuse. It’s an uncommon reason. I would like to spend a week with you and just see how similar we are; just for once talk to you for long enough without being interrupted to know, maybe to just stop lying. Can you imagine that? Honesty in life seems impossible, but it might not be between us. / The fallacy expands. / How often do you lie a day? Think about it. Coming to each other and saying: / “Well, today, I really thought about suicide, and I had to make myself eat even though it made me want to puke. I felt each movement I took as a jarring blow. I spoke to other people… other creatures in the world even though I could not find my breath and I gasped and clenched my uncertain weak fists. I still spoke because I had to I had to and the rope the knife they swell rotten and sweet in every turn and thought and they live in the fear booming in my heart shivering through my feet as I step through the world. / “But I am alive and I have my hands before me and my scars are old. I have lied well enough to hide, for this time at least. / “I thought it took all the strength that I have to do these things, but it took more to them to you.”
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