Diary
341 creative works found
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“I’ve dreamt in my life dreams that have stayed with me ever after, and changed my ideas; they’ve gone through and through me, like wine through water, and altered the color of my mind.” ~ Emily Bronte
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The Adventure Continues / . / Pinhead in the Rain / . / / . / Have you seen Pinheads Potion
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This is a collaboration between myself and Empress for WitheringMoons’ competition Secret Place I want to thank Kate for accepting the challenge of writing a new piece and to congratulate her on such a wonderful result, Dear Diary all written in a day! I only put her up to the challenge less than a day ago.. time zones mean nothing! Thanks also to WitheringMoon for such an inspiring Competition. Anyway, enough of me, over to Kate… Dear Diary Angel crouches atop the pillar, still as the monument she mimics. A sigh escapes her lips and her wings furl in a dark embrace as soft footfalls dance closer. ‘Sapphira. Don’t.’ Partway between the light and the dark, Sapphira spins. She’s a lily of a woman, a shining young thing with pearls and baby’s breath crowning ebony ringlets that spill down to tickle the book she holds. Her fingers tighten, clutching the volume close to her heart. ‘Once it’s gone, it’s dust and there’s no getting it back.’ Angel lands lightly on the Lane, boots soundless on the lush grass. ‘Not even a legendary love.’ / Sapphire stands proud, her shoulder back, steel infusing her spine. ‘I can. I will.’ / ‘No. I’m sorry, Sapphira.’ Angel’s regret is genuine and it colours her voice in shades of mauve. ‘I’m probably one of the few who knows that Lovers Lane is really a corruption of Lover Slain, and one of even less who knows who’s buried beneath out feet. And who you really are.’ ‘Congratulations.’ Sapphira’s smile is brief, a momentary quirk of plum-dark lips that fails to reach her midnight eyes. / ‘I know all that.’ Angel steps closer. ‘But I don’t know how you found the book.’ / Sapphira’s pale hand caresses the book which seems to arch into the stroke like a cat. ‘It found me. Eventually. It is my diary, after all.’ / ‘Ah, yes. A record of a young woman’s hopes and dreams, her wishes and secrets.’ / ‘Don’t forget potential blackmail material.’ / Angel folds her arms and nods thoughtfully. ‘Which is rather why I thought it was burnt with all your other belongings.’ / ‘Like heroes, books never die. They just go elsewhere.’ / ‘Have we covered the banter and cryptic taunts yet? Or are you done?’ / Sapphira glances up at the quarter moon riding low in the sky above Siren’s Gate. The pure light illuminates her face and her resolve. ‘I’m done. Done with waiting and for conditions to be met. I have the key to unlock Destiny’s Door and there is nothing left for me to lose.’ / Angel hums skeptically. ‘That’s what they all say until they’re proved wrong. Usually in some horribly messy fashion guaranteed to stain the brickwork.’ / ‘It doesn’t matter.’ Sapphira flicks the latch apart and skims through pages. The gold talisman ring on her left hand winks. / ‘It does if you have to clean up the mess,’ Angel points out. / Sapphira slices a sharp fingernail across her palm, cups her hand as the blood wells. A delicate frown distorts her brow. ‘The turning of the year, midway between Above and Below, between Before and After…’ / Angel wrinkles her nose as mists coalesce. For a popular nightspot Lovers Lane is lonely tonight, rife with aversions and small mercies. The mists cloud the boundaries, hiding the buildings, muffling the streetlights… and shifting the Lane to another plane. / Straight as a stiletto, green as a fairway, the Lovers Lane becomes the entire world. Mists hem its edges and frame the endpoints. Even mists don’t dare occlude the Deco Dinner or the gothic slendour of the Fata Morgana Tea Palace although they can reduce them to ghosts. / Sapphira shivers and the ruby liquid in the cup of her hand threatens to spill. ‘Almost.’ / ‘Hallow ground. Interesting.’ Angel’s wings retain the full rich colours of midnight, impervious to the half-tones that dominate this version of reality. Except for the verdant turf, herself, and the woman with book. ‘What exactly is your party trick, Sapphira?’ / Sapphira turns another page. She checks over her shoulder, compares behind with ahead and moves until she stands in the middle of the Lane. She drags the tip of her shoe across the ground and the grass unzips. ‘It won’t be a secret much longer.’ / ‘Yes, that’s what I’m concerned about.’ / Sapphira isn’t listening. Her focus is on the well of blood in her hand. Brighter than glory, precious as love, red as rage, it seeps from the slash across her heart and fate lines, closing in on the moment when it will overflow. She brings her hand in line with the break in the ground, starts to angle the outside edge down— / Angel catches Sapphira’s hand and forces it into a fist. / ‘No!’ / ‘That’s what I tried to tell you,’ Angels says. ‘Whatever you call up won’t be him. Just like you’re not you anymore.’ / Sapphira struggles. Angel grabs her other hand, tugs Sapphira round and up on to her toes. Angel’s hold is implacable, her expression gentle. ‘Sapphira. You’ve been dead for decades.’ / Sapphira’s lashes flutter. ‘Pardon?’ / ‘Denial and Belief are powerful forces and when you combine them…’ Angel winces. ‘Sorry.’ / ‘Oh.’ / Angel catches the diary as Sapphira dissolves. The weight of the book is a surprise, drags her arm down. The snap of Angel’s wings flaring for balance is one bruise too many and brings the Lane back into phase with Siren’s Gate. / The moon continues its serene journey and music escapes from the twelve bars between the Diner and the Palace, perhaps a little bluer than normal. / This time Angel’s sigh is heavy as regret in winter. She shakes her head. ‘The Forbidden Book Vault is getting close to full.’ (c) kate smith
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For too long now my voice has been strangled. / For too long now I have allowed my song to go unheard. / No More. My power is real and it lies inside, it cannot hide. / You can strip me of my royal robes of deep rich silken violet, / Dress me in whore’s clothes and rip my pages from your book. / You can rape me, enslave me, you can burn me at the stake. / No amount of suffering you bring me can cause my will to break. / I will rise again and again like Venus from the foam, / Inside every woman, mother and child I am free to roam. / I am the spirit of the Goddess, I am the soul of the Divine. This image is part of the Lost Goddess Diaries. / Mixed media and collage. All collaged elements are of my own creation. © AmandaGWright 2009.
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Mia is in a wafting swirl of thoughts,(in Italian)his lips ,his eyes,his kiss… / iridescent,whites, charcoal blacks ACRYLIC GLAZING on Masonite approx. 4’ x 5’ / 2nd OF COMMISSIONED ( MODIFIED) TRIPLICATE WORK / for Mia Bella Restaurant @ Historical site Houston,Texas / +interior Mural approx.8×20ft-old masters collage best photos available
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This t-shirt has been designed for the 24hr Challenge: 1 Paragraph / Challenge set: We’re going to play a little game of chance for this speed tee challenge. Head over to your bookshelf. Select any book that catches your eye and open it. Any page will do. Find a paragrah. This paragraph will be your topic. We want your t-shirt design to visually represent the content of this paragraph, whatever it may be … Please include the paragraph in your description. You have 24 hours. Anne Frank-The Diary Of A Young Girl, page 252. / ‘Sunday afternoon Peter came to see me at four-thirty, at my invitation. At five-fifteen we went to the front attic, where we stayed until six. There was a beautiful Mozart concert on the radio from six to seven-fifteen; I especially enjoyed the Kleine Nachtmusik. I can hardly bear to listen in the kitchen, since beautiful music stirs me to the very depths of my soul’. Her wings are made from the musical notes of the Kleine Nachtmusik. /
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May 1943, Eastern England Finally taking a break from the constant bombing missions over Germany. The crew remains in good spirits and morale is high. Today we got some downtime and managed to have a baseball game between guys from the 457th Bomb Group and the Escort Fighter pilots. Got this shot of Lt. White “Lightening” sliding onto home plate and winning the game. Umpire Dave “Goose” declares White to be safe …. Had many beers and smokes that evening and rasing the losers. Tomorrow will be another Milk Run to Braunschweig.
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Hunter Thompson should really require no introduction. Quite simply put, he was THE man. But, if you don’t already know him, I guess now you do. The day the news of his apparent suicide broke was the first time a ‘celebrity’ death ever hit me like a sack of bricks. The only other one to’ve effected me in a similar way was that of Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. (Who, I imagine, will be another subject of mine, soon enough.) This man was and is one of my go-to guys, one of my all-time heroes in life. Another one-hour portrait. Oils on 8” x 10” canvas panel.
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The Memoirs of a Geisha inspired me to learn a lot about Japan and its culture and this was one of the pieces that I created while enjoying the learning experience. / Media: Photography & Photoshop / Stock: sxu
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That which you seek, you possess already. / The answers to your questions are already inside you. / Listen. Listen closely. If you believe yourself to be small, / if you believe that the answers you seek exist somewhere outside yourself, then you along with so many of your brothers and sisters will spend all of your days chasing after an illusion…participating in a collective delusion. / The time for change has come. © AmandaGWright 2009.
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Diary / di•a•ry / Noun / A book in which one keeps a daily record of events & experiences. Also available sans type.
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...These most recent pieces (my best work yet) reflect how I choose to view myself, life and everything it ‘that is’...!! I would describe life in the same way I do myself…. a mess… but a BEAUTIFUL one!!! ...These latest pieces would not have been brought to life without the inspiration of my BEST friend. She not only inspired this latest work but the title for this piece too! =)
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“If the dream is a translation of waking life, waking life is also a translation of the dream.” / ~ Rene Magritte
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A Collection of my shot with Maria Anne..great model, lovely person, artistic and talented model. Love her so much… / hope you like it!
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it’s not electronic – it’s pen on paper / it’s careful and planned – the entries neat / her life – one page to a day
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Make some change on part one and Part 2…thanks in advance!
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I first heard of Virginia Woolf when I was at school. She was a writer that always interested me from a young age. Later in my life I had a sad encounter while sitting in an art gallery and looking at one of my paintings. I suddenly saw her within the layers of paint. The experience upset me greatly because it depicted her demise as she walked into / The River Ouse and drowned. Virginia has a presence in my life that I cherish greatly. I hope one day to write a book about the whole experience which has been truly remarkable. In Summer 2008 I had the opportunity to re-read Orlando which was first published in 1928. It tells the story of a young man named Orlando, born in England during the reign of Elizabeth I, who decides not to grow old. He does not, and he passes through the ages as a young man … until he wakes up one morning to find that he has metamorphosed into a woman – the same person, with the same personality and intellect, but in a woman’s body. The remaining centuries up to the time the book was written are seen through a woman’s eyes. While re- reading the book I suddenly became aware of Virginia’s state of mind and the difficulties she experienced in her life. I sat down and wrote for two hours. I felt like I had been in a trance and realised later that I had my first experience of automatic writing. / In my writings she explained the difficulties that she had experienced throughout her life. The insurmountable problems she not only felt but could also hear. Today I know that Virginia had Spiritual guides who were trying to communicate with her as she was a Sensitive. However times were difficult when she was alive and she thought she was going mad. There was no one she could confide in because she feared the worst. / I have been very fortunate to have a wonderful mentor and friend who guides me on my path of Spiritual discovery and therefore I don’t feel isolated or alone. / I end this dedication in Virginia’s own words, which she left Leonard on the 28th March 1941: / I feel certain that I am going mad again. I feel we can’t go through another of those terrible times. And I shan’t recover this time. I begin to hear voices, and I can’t concentrate. So I am doing what seems the best thing to do. You have given me the greatest possible happiness. You have been in every way all that anyone could be. I don’t think two people could have been happier ‘til this terrible disease came. I can’t fight any longer. I know that I am spoiling your life, that without me you could work. And you will I know. You see I can’t even write this properly. I can’t read. What I want to say is I owe all the happiness of my life to you. You have been entirely patient with me and incredibly good. I want to say that — everybody knows it. If anybody could have saved me it would have been you. Everything has gone from me but the certainty of your goodness. I can’t go on spoiling your life any longer. I don’t think two people could have been happier than we have been. V. / I dedicate this work to Virginia Woolf my cherished Spiritual Guide and friend. Music – Breakaway – Kelly Clarkson 10th January 2009
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Inside me, inside my infinite womb is housed my soul, my connection to source, my divinity. That which makes me woman makes me divine by nature, from this place I create, I give life and give birth to my own destiny. The Goddess lives inside me and can be called upon at any time, she is sewn into the fabric of this woman. There is no separation between the God in me and the woman I am. We are one. This image is part of the Lost Goddess Diaries. / Mixed media and collage. All collaged elements are of my own creation. © AmandaGWright 2009.
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My competition entry for the 3 item challenge – a light globe, string and key. One of my neighbour’s garages is like a time warp machine, as well as containing absolutely everything you would need, like an old globe, string and keys. The cupboard on the left of the image was purchased by his father for 10 cents – an absolute bargain! I thought it fitting that I should drag this image back in time.
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”...today I’m feeling pesimistic…it’s been 26 days since I’ve / seen you….2 days since I’ve heard your voice…I feel how / the darkest thoughts draw me in… I see no light, I feel / no love, nor your touch….”
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”...I came to your door today, but you / weren’t there…”
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MIA BELLA ,with quite elegance,creates her own Opera in love…. ACRYLIC GLAZING on Masonite / 1ST OF COMMISSIONED ( MODIFIED) TRIPLICATE WORK / for Mia Bella Resturant @ Historical site Houston,Texas / +interior Mural approx.8×20ft-old masters collage / best photos available
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