Discretion
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21 creative works found
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Hi there! ☺ Yes…it´s me…..Andreas Stridsberg. Why am I opening a new account you ask? Well the answer is simple: Because i´m under contract with various publishers that demand they have “first dibs” on my work i can´t go around selling them left and right. I first have to wait for them to either accept or reject any of my new work. And because that´s usually a looooong and slooooow process i then use my other account to simply showcase my work. While on this account i can make those i know for sure my publishers have rejected available as prints to whomever may be interested. Does it make sense to you? :-) I´m sorry for possibly posting duplicates of something that i might already have posted at my original stridsberg-account But i need to keep them separeted due to above mentioned reasons. :-) Thanks for stopping by! And as always…keep an eye on my own website for my most recent work and my pointless blog: Sincerly Andreas Stridsberg www.mystic-pic.com P.S. I´m also sorry for repeating this message on my every single upload tonight…i just thought i´d be as clear as possible. Godness how i´m apologizing right now…i´m sorry about that as well. :-/
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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 The withdrawn analytical front, designed for most occasions.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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In a Roman myth, Cupid stops rumours about the infidelities of Venus by bribing the god of silence with a rose… A mystic symbol of the heart, the centre and the cosmic wheel, and also of sacred, romantic and sensual love. This rose was created in Apophysis My love is like a Red Rose by Eva Cassidy My love’s like a red, red rose / That’s newly sprung in June; My love is like a melody / So sweetly play’d in tune As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, / So deep in love am I; / And I will love thee still, my dear, / Though all the seas gone dry. Though all the seas gone dry, my dear, / And the rocks melt with the sun; / I will love thee still my dear, / Though the sands o’ life shall run. So fare-thee-weel, my only love! / And fare-thee-weel awhile! / And I will come to you again, / Though it were ten thousand miles! Though it were ten thousand miles, my dear / Though it twere ten thousand miles. / I will come to you again. / Though it twere ten thousand miles
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Charcoal on paper
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/ /
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Implied nude of female.
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Shirakawa, Gion district in Kyoto.
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Sound judgment not based on specialized knowledge; native good judgment. ACRYLIC ART CALENDARS CARDS POETRY PHOTOGRAPHY – ANIMALS PHOTOGRAPHY -CANDID SHOTS PHOTOGRAPHY – CATS AND DOGS PHOTOGRAPHY – CONTEMPORARY WORK PHOTOGRAPHY – FLOWERS PHOTOGRAPHY – INSECTS PHOTOGRAPHY – TRADITIONALLY TURKISH PHOTOGRAPHY – TREE AND TREE PARTS T-SHİRTS My Images Do Not Belong To The Public Domain. All images are copyright © taiche. All Rights Reserved. Copying, altering, displaying or redistribution of any of these images without written permission from the artist is strictly prohibited / More products available / Why not follow me on / or join me at I have subdivided this category into sections: follow the links and hit on exactly what fits you. You are now at *ALL TEXT TEES ALCOHOL ATTITUDE / BLACK/DARK HUMOUR CURRENT EVENTS FEMINISM GEEK INNUENDO OFFENSIVE PLAY ON WORDS POLITICAL SATIRE RELIGION TV QUOTES ANIMAL SERIES ART TO WEAR BIRDS CATS AND DOGS SERIES CELTIC SERIES CUTE SERIES DID I HEAR YOU RIGHT SERIES DIGITAL SERIES EINSTEIN SERIES FOR F*’s AKE SERIES GAY SERIES KISS SERIES LINE DRAWING SERIES MANAGRAM SERIES NATIVE AMERICAN SERIES PALINDROME AND AMBIGRAM SERIES PHALLUS SERIES PISS TAKE SERIES RUDE FOOD SERIES SEASONAL SERIES SIGN AND SYMBOL SERIES SMILE SERIES TEXT ONLY SERIES UK POLITICS UNDERWEAR SERIES VINTAGE BURLESQUE SERİES WTF IS THAT ALL ABOUT? See more of taiche at ZAZZLE / Baby Custom T-Shirts :dress that baby up with a special design on a custom t-shirt, long sleeve or onesize / Kids Custom T-Shirts .from organic t-shirts to long sleeve shirts, boys, girls, and toddlers can fill their fashion needs with a one-of-a-kind custom t-shirts for kids. Check out the latest organic t-shirts, sweatshirts, and girls shirts. And plenty of styles for toddlers too! Aprons / Bags / Buttons / Cards / Hats / Keds Shoes / Keychains / Magnets / Mousepads / Mugs / Postage / Postcards / Stickers / T-Shirt / Ties
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I thoroughly loved returning to this relatively hidden pond.
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face incognito
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Viewer discretion advised. TV MA LSV.
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Water abstract.
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The Death of "Common Sense" by Lori Borgman
by Nathan JohnsonObituary of the late Mr. “Common Sense” Today we mourn the passing of a beloved old friend, “Common Sense”, who has been with …
Obituary of the late Mr. “Common Sense” Today we mourn the passing of a beloved old friend, “Common Sense”, who has been with us for many years. No one knows for sure how old he was, since his birth records were long ago lost in bureaucratic red tape. He will be remembered as having cultivated such valuable lessons as: Knowing when to come in out of the rain; Why the early bird gets the worm; Life isn’t always fair; and Maybe it was my fault. “Common Sense” lived by simple, sound financial policies (don’t spend more than you can earn) and reliable strategies (adults, not children, are in charge). His health began to deteriorate rapidly when well-intentioned but overbearing regulations were set in place. Reports of a 6 -year-old boy charged with sexual harassment for kissing a classmate; teens suspended from school for using mouthwash after lunch; and a teacher fired for reprimanding an unruly student, only worsened his condition. “Common Sense” lost ground when parents attacked teachers for doing the job that they themselves had failed to do in disciplining their unruly children. It declined even further when schools were required to get parental consent to administer Panadol, sun lotion or a band-aid to a student; but could not inform parents when a student became pregnant and wanted to have an abortion. “Common Sense” lost the will to live as the Ten Commandments became contraband; churches became businesses; and criminals received better treatment than their victims. “Common Sense” took a beating when you couldn’t defend yourself from a burglar in your own home and the burglar could sue you for assault. “Common Sense” finally gave up the will to live, after a woman failed to realize that a steaming cup of coffee was hot. She spilled a little in her lap, and was promptly awarded a huge settlement. “Common Sense” was preceded in death by his parents, “Truth” and “Trust”; his wife, “Discretion”; his daughter, “Responsibility”; and his son, “Reason”. He is survived by his 3 stepbrothers; “I Know My Rights”, “Someone Else Is To Blame”, and “I’m A Victim”. Not many attended his funeral because so few realized he was gone. If you still remember him, pass this on. If not, join the majority and do nothing. Written by Lori Borgman – http://www.loriborgman.com/
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Discrete: The Surf (Serf) and (Astro)Turf, ½ Poem, ½ Journal - Part 1.5 of 2
by Gordon Merrick JusticeI won’t exaggerate for you, / you see the middle; / Not a metaphor for glass, / but ice instead.
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Lean spell
by Mishaal Sardar*Sensing your breathing / to feel the heat of your passions / My dreams are confidential / but I know that I can rely on your discretion / We…
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♥ SHARING & CARING ........
by adgrayG’day just a quick one! the awesome Mr Snappy Dave posted THIS...
G’day just a quick one! the awesome Mr Snappy Dave posted THIS to share! / Go read weep & learn the fate & stop it if you care! / spread it round your home & town in here or over there! / and we shall see our common sense revive and reappear! lol / Chookas! ♥
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Pillow Talk
by Sally OmarThere the women sit side by side / Talking of things they usually hide / They exchange confessions / Of past discretions / Watching their…
Thank you Nancy for your very descriptive photo “Pillow Talk” / Nancy and I are both from N.Y.C. and many women spend their days discussing / life while looking out the window checking on their children and leaning on / their pillows having heart to heart talks / Please check out my friend Nancy Fischer’s other awesome artwork and / poetry on RB /
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Wisdom is knowledge, understanding, experience, discretion, and intuitive understanding, along with a capacity to apply these qualities well towards finding solutions to problems. It is the judicious and purposeful application of knowledge that is valued in society. To some extent the terms wisdom and intelligence have similar and overlapping meanings. The status of wisdom or prudence as a virtue is recognized in cultural, philosophical and religious sources. All digital art created by me are “One Of A Kind” prints. This is so the original retains its integrity as the only one of its kind and as such will be signed by me or an appointed executer of my estate should I die before all my work has been sold. Each work is printed on treated canvas with the highest quality inks and fixed with four to five coats of UV Fixative. These works are created to stand the test of time and if properly cared for will last life times. If you want to know more about collecting “One Of A Kind” Digital Prints Click Here Ron Eller This image is a visual expression of what wisdom might look like. Price: $1,100.00 Dimensions: 55.000×36.000 inches Medium: Digital Art – Digital Art, Photography If you wish to purchase a “One Of A Kind” signed digital print email me at ron@reller.com or call at (860) 267-6729.
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Chinese & Amsterdam Storeys
by Maxwell Edward“Good afternoon Gentlemen. Our delicious Chinese restaurant serves some of the greatest Chinese delicacies. Can I take your orders?” J…
“Good afternoon Gentlemen. Our delicious Chinese restaurant serves some of the greatest Chinese delicacies. Can I take your orders?” Jermaine takes charge as usual. “I imagine you can sir. Well my friend will have special fried rice and I will have special sweet n sour chicken. Could you make sure it’s especially sweet n sour though? Thanks sir.” People love to eat Chinese. More often the meals though…for the appetisers may prove too fattening over time. Neville and Jermaine have definitely had their share of fattening up over time. Neville is said to eat more Chinese than most Chinese and as for Jermaine, he probably eats more of most things than most people. “Jerry, don’t you think it’s strange how he mentioned they serve some of the greatest Chinese delicacies?” Jermaine who finds nothing short of highly unusual strange, makes a joke from anything less of great importance. “_Why_? What did you expect in a Chinese Restaurant, Indian food?” Neville who hears these jokes more often than not (but still not in appreciation of them) seems to always be misunderstood. “No, I mean, we’re not Chinese. I can’t see anyone in here that is Chinese…In fact I would say that the only Chinese this restaurant ever sees is on the plates. So, they could get away with telling us that this restaurant actually serves the greatest Chinese delicacies. Why would they not?” Jermaine’s opinion always went back to philosophy. “Some wise advice I have for you Nev. Never question the Chinese.” Something about the way the duo talked, it was utter enjoyment. The puns continuously employed emphasised it. A certain kind of pleasure whenever they accompanied one another was unleashed. “Oh Jerry, you got to hear about what happened to my cousin. _You’ll never believe it_…So Ben was in Amsterdam for some time, on holiday or something. Well on the last week he jumped off the top of a three-storey apartment balcony.” Jermaine who believes most things reasonable, but also hesitates in jumping to conclusions always feels obliged to question the situation. “Why the hell would anyone do something like that?” Neville started blushing. He was never as outgoing as Jermaine, even being questioned made him feel slightly insecure. “Well Jerry, you know my cousin Benjamin. No one questions him.” A certain kind of tension was building somewhere between Nevilles growing timidity and Jermaine’s pursuing nerves. “I think anyone thinking about jumping off the third storey of an apartment should be prepared to answer a lot of questions.” There was an uncomfortable short-lived silence between the duos. Neville thought of it as his responsibility to protect his cousin’s reputation, yet his loyalty had previously shown to lead to misdemeanours. Neville decided to break his loyalty for what his reason was telling him was sensibility. “Yeah Jermaine, agreed. Benjamin sure must be a moron hey. Oh, which reminds me, did I tell you he is going to become a lawyer?” The Chinese waiter had brought back the dishes. This is possibly the fastest time a waiter had brought out dishes (which were supposed to be quality cuisines). Then again, Jermaine and his friends always had their doubts about Chinese restaurants. Over their many meals they had discussed many things ranging from the health issues to the political and economic consequences of the different restaurant franchises. The Chinese waiter did not talk this time. He had a chilling frown cast upon his face. Perhaps he had heard their talking? Perhaps it was just the all-round atmosphere of working in such a demanding service. Jermaine and Neville dug into their meals, each choosing their pick of chop sticks and spoon respectively although ironically not in quite a disorderly manner. It was only lucky that Neville chose a spoon for the fried rice to prevent any more mess (if more mess were possible). “So Nev, back to the story; now that you tell me Mr. Benjamin wants to be a lawyer…that makes much more sense; their all lying bastards. This is one big story to you in order to gain your sympathy or something. It can’t really be explained, except that he is behind it all…” “Not true. I saw his bandages and cuts and sores; everything. That can’t really be faked.” “I’m sure for a lawyer, anything can be faked. Any kind of falsehood can be created and unleashed by those guys!” “No seriously. Okay here’s the story, he said he went to a party. He got pretty drunk knowing it was his last week. Who knows maybe he even did…goddamn man it’s Amsterdam! I don’t have to mention the possibilities, their limitless! Anything could have happened. Well anyway, he woke up and that is when the nurse told him what had been reported to her.” “You know what this sounds like? Chinese whispers. She said this; he said that, you say this…” Sceptical Jermaine could never let any possibility go. “Okay whatever, whatever.” Neville had enough. This sort-of-debate had turned into a sort-of-argument. It was time for him to try and change the mannerism of things “Hey Jerry, this kind of talking is probably not good for eating, let’s just eat okay. I mean just the other day I saw the scars and bleeding…well you know.” Eating continued. Polite (enough) slurping of Chinese tea and rice among other things died down the sound of thought. Than Jermaine continued speaking, but not where they left off. “Hey Nev, I’ll be back in a minute. Just have to convenience myself!” Neville sat there. Five minutes boring his intellect- no one to talk to! Jermaine returned. Back to his meal; back to messy eating and the hope of more polite interesting talk. Before Neville had seen it, Jermaine had finished the rest of his special sweet n sour. “Hey Neville, are you still feeling hungry at all?” Before Neville had a chance to reply Jermaine had beckoned the waiter over and ordered “Special Chinese fortune cookies”. The cookies came in no time at all again. It made it seem like there was surely something efficiently magical about this restaurant. “Hey Nev, can you tell me about this story a bit more. So would you get this, I actually heard about a story similar to his; actually two stories, exactly like his…they both sort of were like these crazy stories where these things happened to guys in…well Chinese restaurants actually!” Neville was only half listening, except the information was still unconsciously processing into his mind. He opened his fortune cookie. “No I do not believe it! Coincidences of such do not occur! Madness unleashed!” Neville started shaking intensely, trembling, his usual steady figure rumbling in what looked like fear; his skin pale and pupils dilating and goose bumps on his skin forming. Than he shoved his hands over his head and continued his fearful actions half-hidden by the table. Jermaine grabbed the little slice of Chinese paper, it must be not so fortunate whatever the fortune be he thought! “You will suffer falling three-storeys tonight. Do not question the Chinese” They both sat there; Jermaine seemingly doing and thinking nothing except watching the actions of Neville. Neville with his behaviour turning more and more intense and shocking as seconds progressed and turned into minutes. “Neville!” Neville took no notice, for a moment, to only a moment later reply, “What? Don’t you fucking get this? Can’t you see what’s happening?” Jermaine looked at his watch. Five minutes. Long enough…longer would be dangerous perhaps. “My good friend Neville. I have a confession. I put that note in your cracker…it’s to teach you a lesson really. But it’s also quite a cracker now too to think of it! You should have seen the look on your face! And my friend, I’ll tell you the moral of the story…Question anything with suspicion, even the Chinese, otherwise who knows what will be unleashed!”
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