Dying Wall Art
872 creative works found
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From my collection / Perception is Reality Aloha e Malama pono. Mahalo a nui loa for your many wonderful messages. Thank you so much! I use a Canon EOS Digital Rebel XTi © 2008 Sharon Anne Mau Ke Ahi La’a ~ Sacred Fire / World Christian Gathering on Indigenous People / Hilo, Hawaii – 2002 This is a composite of my photographs of a beautiful sunset on the golden sands of Po’olenalena Beach, Maui Hawai’i. Visible on the horizon is the sacred island of Kanaloa (Kaho’olawe Island) and Molokini. This image is dedicated with deepest spiritual love, respect and Aloha Na’au to my beloved husband Jacob Mau and kindest respect for his friend Kahu Daniel Kikawa~ Hawai’i ‘78 Revisited I love you Jacob! “Na Kahu’s first release, Aloha Ke Akua, is a Na Hoku Hanohano Award finalist (Hawaii Music Award) and winner of the Indian Summer Music Award 2005. Produced by Daniel Kikawa as a musical version of his highly regarded book,”Perpetuated in Righteousness… Daniel Kikawa, PhD (Intercultural Studies) is the President of Aloha Ke Akua. You can find more information about him at: DanielKikawa.com Other items produced by Aloha Ke Akua: / CD: A Call to the Nations (Na Kahu) / A Call to the Nations: Na Kahu – Aloha Ke Akua II Lonoikamakahiki – Helu 1 My husband, Jacob Mau, and Daniel Kikawa are friends. Jacob is featured in one of Daniel’s books* ~ God of Light, God of Darkness In preparation for the ‘Io Project, (‘Io is the Hawaiian name for God or the Supreme Creator) when Jacob was asked by Daniel to join the team, Daniel had received information about Jacob as he was working with DLNR in land conservation and drug enforcement, and considering that Jacob is Kanaka Kupuna and has a wealth of knowledge about his people and culture, the Heiau’s, the temples and other sacred, historic and archeological sites on Maui, Moloka’i and the other Hawaiian Islands. It was critically important that the spiritual cleansing of the heiau’s on all the islands take place at the same time. Date of the project 14 March 1998. Excerpt from God of Light ~ God of Darkness – Chapter 20 The Mountain Ridge / “Thursday morning, 12 March, dawned; and Daniel was still without a solution to their dilemma. The phone rang; it was Jacob Mau on Maui. Jacob was known as the best search and rescue man on Maui. He had hunted the mountains and back country of Maui since he was a boy and knew the land like his own back yard. He was a major factor in helping the Maui team find several heiau(s). Jacob told Daniel he was helping Pastor Alan Cravallo get permits to go into several remote valleys in Hamakua on the Big Island. So Daniel told him of their unsolvable problem on Moloka’i. Jacob said he would see what he could do and call him back. Daniel didn’t have high hopes. He had already checked out every possible option. But an hour later, Jacob called back. “I got you a helicopter that will land you at the very top of the mountain – FREE!!”. Daniel was stunned! It turned out Jacob had a pilot friend, Mike (last name withheld by request), who owed him a favour. He and Jacob had worked together many times doing search-and-rescue- missions. Getting permits was not a problem for these search-and-rescue pilots. Jacob said Mike was the best pilot in the islands and that he had landed in the Moloka’i high country many times. God only provides the very best!” Ke Akua o ke Ao, Ke Akua o ka Po / The Chronicles of the Spiritual Battle for Hawai’i “No mind, no form, I only exist; / Now ceased all will and thought; / The final end of Nature’s dance, / I am it whom I have sought. / A realm of Bliss bare, ultimate; / Beyond both knower and known; / A rest immense I enjoy at last; / I face the One alone. / I have crossed the secret ways of life, / I have become the Goal. / The Truth immutable is revealed; / I am the way, the God Soul. / My spirit aware of all the heights, / I am mute in the core of the Sun. / I barter nothing with time and deeds; / My cosmic play is done” ~ By: Sri Chinmoy 1931-2007 All of the Hawaiian Islands are mountains. The entire island of Maui is an enormous mountain rising up from depths of the ocean floor and surrounded by the vast and beautiful Pacific Ocean. The West Maui mountains are older than the East Maui mountains, and specifically the majestic summit of Haleakala, is one of the highest mountains on earth, a massive shield volcano that forms more than 75% of the Hawaiian Island of Maui, which is 10,023 feet in elevation from sea level. Information Source: Wikipedia. The more eroded, highest peak of the West Maui mountains is Pu’u Kukui at 5,788 feet. The sacred O ‘Iao Valley is the most famous valley of this mountain range. The West Maui Mountains or West Maui Volcano, known to Hawaiians as Mauna Kahalawai and Hale Mahina, form a much eroded shield volcano that constitutes the western one-quarter of the Hawaiian Island of Maui. Mauna Kahalawai is the mountain visible in many of my beach images from the south coast of the island and my sunset images from Ho’okipa on the North Shore. This archipelago represents the exposed peaks of a great undersea mountain range known as the Hawaiian-Emperor seamount chain, formed by volcanic activity over a hotspot in the earth’s mantle. At about 1,860 miles (3,000 km) from the nearest continent, the Hawaiian Island archipelago is the most isolated grouping of islands on Earth. The Hawaiian-Emperor seamount chain is composed of the Hawaiian Ridge, consisting of the islands of the Hawaiian chain northwest to Kure Atoll, and the Emperor Seamounts, a vast underwater mountain region of islands and intervening seamounts, atolls, shallows, banks and reefs along a line trending southeast to northwest beneath the northern Pacific Ocean. The seamount chain, containing over 80 identified undersea volcanoes, stretches over 5,800 kilometres (3,600 mi) from the Aleutian Trench in the far northwest Pacific to the Loʻihi seamount, the youngest volcano in the chain, which lies about 35 kilometres (22 mi) southeast of the Island of Hawaiʻi. The Hawaiian Islands are that portion of the Hawaiian-Emperor seamount chain that projects above sea level.
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Model is courtesy of Marcus Ranum Thanks for looking! :)
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Money + Blood = Oil / You don’t think this is true? Then you are guilty of not thinking. LEARN / MCN:C50-CCUV-9015 Featured by Gallery-425 05 September 2008 If you have it, the more you want it / If you don’t have it, you want it / Everyday life revolves around it Some kill for it / Sell themselves for it / Pray for it / Scream for it / Die for it, bleed for it / Consumed by it I love it. I hate it / I detest it. I crave it / What’s so fucking special about it IT is MONEY Rich or Poor By demon
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I see a red door and I want it painted black / No colors anymore I want them to turn black / I see the girls walk by dressed in their summer clothes / I have to turn my head until my darkness goes I see a line of cars and they’re all painted black / With flowers and my love both never to come back / I see people turn their heads and quickly look away / Like a new born baby it just happens ev’ry day I look inside myself and see my heart is black / I see my red door and it has been painted black / Maybe then I’ll fade away and not have to face the facts / It’s not easy facin’ up when your whole world is black No more will my green sea go turn a deeper blue / I could not foresee this thing happening to you If I look hard enough into the settin’ sun / My love will laugh with me before the mornin’ comes I see a red door and I want it painted black / No colors anymore I want them to turn black / I see the girls walk by dressed in their summer clothes / I have to turn my head until my darkness goes Hmm, hmm, hmm,... I wanna see it painted, painted black / Black as night, black as coal / I wanna see the sun blotted out from the sky / I wanna see it painted, painted, painted, painted black / Yeah! ~Lyrics The Rolling Stones
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The Roll of Honour, Australian War Memorial, Canberra, ACT
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Enjoy!
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photoshop photos, PS brushes and model is (by) me / working with many layers of different transparencies and blending modes and six photos (all my own) + painting and smudging to make the ears and to attach the wings to the body. the orbs were painted and reflections added and distorted with the liquify filter. / close up close up 2
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Agathe had arthritis all over her poor body ,she couldn’t stand it .Sometimes she was just ragin of pain .She passed away the 14 of april .I wasn’t there to say goodbye but I’m sure she knows her hands will finaly be on R.B.I asked her for some shots of her twisted fingers and she agreed with such pleasure ,she asked me several times when I was going to do it .I went to see her just in time a week ago.She was so weak she couldn’t hold to little butterfly,I felt so sad but at the same time I was happy that she used the rest of her strenth to do that shot she wanted so more.She was always on oxygene and stayed still all day long the last few weeks.I ‘m sure she’s not suffering anymore .By! Bye! Agathe…xx
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~ The last tear falls / and all my color drains / My face turns ashen / as my love burns away The rose of my heart / once blooming and full / Is now a memory a figment / of all l once knew ~ Trudi S. 2008 A bit of fun with PS !! Tell me if you think l should stop now!! lol
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something I saw written on a wall of a derelict inner city punk squat many years ago and was compelled to photograph. recently rediscovered while digitizing negative files this photo has not been seen for twenty years. this is what it looks like as a laminated print.
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The internet has merged our minds/meeting wonderful new friends/sharing secrets never imagined/respecting space…...........but enjoying the closeness. Then again sometimes it is best to keep one’s distance! “Dying to get close to you”.............just words of a song I am listening to at the moment Dedicated to all on REDBUBBLE ….please enjoy My Signature! My Signature:Melbourne
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Some Links to My Pics:
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Bad Habits Die Hard / 3D Model and Digital Painting / Smokin, drinkin and probably a pistol packin’ mama;) / Available as a card, poster and print. / Image copyright © 2008 Shanina Conway. / Copying and displaying or redistribution of this image without permission from the artist is strictly prohibited /
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Sedition 2005 (Part 4 of 6), Jamin, 2005, Enamel and Acrylic on MDF, 120cm x 120cm This is one panel of a painting that is comprised of 6 panels. The countries mentioned in the piece are most of the countries that were experiencing civil, social or military unrest in the year 2005.
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I’m sure I heard you sigh
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Round and round the sun we go; the moon goes round the earth. We do not die of death we die of vertigo.
by pauldrobertsonI have been learning more and more and more. I think I understand the genesis of Christianity now. I have read a book on Greek mythology, on Celtic, on Norse. They are all tied in together, and these stories, all these stories and stories, interlaced and beautiful, they are the products of madness themselves. The most daring ideas, the most exquisite – these are outside the workings of a mind that fits the requisite barriers of societal acceptance – more much more than that – they are outside the limits of working within a mind and not causing it pain. Nietzsche’s abortive saints, one and all – all of US that is what we are. I have started drinking green tea all the time. I swear it gives me some kind of little rush. I have even tried to learn more about eastern philosophy… got some INSENCE for fuck’s sake, but the philosophy is, of course, just as dense and vast as its western counterpart, and it is slippery to me. Though I have already learned that so much of what took the west till the 18th or 19thc was already understood by the 5thc BC in India. There are holes there too where the west went forward and the east never considered. It is frightening in sheer scale. Vast. I understand that I will never know it as deeply as I would wish to. / I remember when some confused DICK decided I was colourblind when I was about 8 years old. I was devastated – I could never be a pilot or an electrician. I had no desire to be a pilot or an electrician until then. But I feel the same kind of loss every time I realise that I can never know as deeply as I wish to the twists and surges of brilliant humanity that move me. / There is not enough time. / Ah, time… everything is fucking RELATIVE. How fast are we going? Well… to us, we are still. Everything else moves, each of us anchors the universe because THAT IS WHERE WE SEE FROM. It doesn’t matter if we are mad and we see monsters and hear voices – they are as real as the rest of the world, they ARE because for each of us the things that define our world are what our senses tell us, there can be no other truth, EVER, this is it, the world that we see, distorted by our minds and full of panic and magic and fear – this is no less real than the first vision of a perfect newborn child or the last of an ancient man’s eyes before they close! If our memories differ from what our senses tell us, if other people tell us that things vary from our fevered and mad perceptions, what does it matter? How can we trust these things more than what our OWN SENSES TELL US? / The slide into hell, tell me again why I should trust the words of someone who does not feel the things that I feel, why I should believe that my hell is less real than their / FUCKING / OFFICE / When my heart swells and bursts with conviction stronger than the deepest oath, stronger than the faiths for which people die and kill, I am supposed to believe someone outside my mind with words as uncertain as the TIE that he wears, that I do not know or love, that MY world is wrong, and that THIERS is the real, the pure, the right and absolute. / Or the paradise of high euphoria, give it up! Go back to pain return to ugliness and sorrow and grey, spurn bliss and the conviction of genius, blooming pleasure in our veins, believe it is a lie? / It is such a GIFT. Our own bodies slight of hand against age and pain and omnipresent atrophy, a chattering blissful and horny twist of relief, give it up give it all up for harsh light and slow ugly time. “If we had a keen sense of all that is ordinary in human life, it would be like hearing the grass grow or the squirrel’s heartbeat, and we should die of that roar that is the other side of silence.” “Do not go gently into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.” “Lovers and madmen have such seething brains, such shaping fantasies, that apprehend far more than cool reason ever comprehends. One sees more devils than vast hells can hold. That is the madman. The lover, all is frantic, sees Helen’s beauty in a brow of Egypt. The poet’s eye in a frenzy rolling, doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven, and as imagination bodies forth, all is made compact. Gives to airy nothing a local habitation. And a name.” Breathe the sweet breath of madness tie your mind to itself in switches and arcs of pleasure and lights and pain, in stutters and twitches and flights and bursts of colour in your vision. / We are all so bound to lucidity. To rationalism. Ah hell. And to it we eventually return. I wish I was my cat. “I am a brother to dragons / I am a companion to owls. / My skin is black upon me. / And my bones are burned with heat.”
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Roll the die, / Win the game, / Everytime. MORE WORKS FROM MY PORTFOLIO /
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I Died many Times Before… First time I remember, I was still a toddler / sitting in the morning sun, on the concrete floor. / My grandparents’ courtyard in Salamiyeh. / I watched, fascinated, as the massive snake / made its way from the roof / down the wall in front of me. / I held a long stick in my hand, tapped / the giant head as it slithered closer. Second time, a year or so older, also in Salamiyeh. / It struck on a starry summer night. / I was playing barefooted on the patio. / Mother came running to my screams. / Sobbing, I told her a big butterfly bit my foot. / I pointed to where it ran off, watched / as she grabbed a straw broom, killed / the venomous desert scorpion with repeated blows. / I vividly recall her rushing around with one shoe on, / the other missing, laying me in a stroller, / running down darkened streets to the emergency clinic. I also died at age five, along with my mother and sister. / It happened on the two-lane Hama-Homs highway. / Mother unintentionally turned the steering wheel / as she twisted her body to chide us / for backseat bickering. No guardrails. / Nothing but protruding rocks all the way / down the steep drop-off. My first summer in college, I died in New York City. / Muggy night, uptown Manhattan, a block away from Broadway / in front of the big Cathedral. I had my arms up, / as the man who had just asked for a light / pressed the tip of his knife into my ribs. Years later, on a misty morning on Texas Highway 87, / I fell asleep at the wheel. / I had worked through the night in Victoria, / and was looking ahead to my bed in San Antonio. / My Chevy Blazer slowly drifted left / into the path of the oncoming truck. Those worlds / continue without me. / My tombstones there / mark ends of times I knew. In this one, grandmother Um Sami suddenly appeared. / Rounded boulder hoisted high. Arms fully extended. / How she lifted it? How she took dead aim, and launched it / smashing the serpent’s head? / I do not know. I was still conscious. / I do remember clearly / the terrified look on my mother’s face. / How her voice trembled as she pleaded / with the nurse to be careful. She was afraid / the syringe’s needle was going to puncture through / my tiny toe. Mother slammed the brakes as she forcefully corrected. / Car came to a screaming, precarious halt / in a cloud of swirling dust. / We stayed parked at the side of the road for a long time. / Her hands shaking, she gave us grapes, / while she collected her frazzled self. / She swore never to drive again. / Never did. “Let the creep go”, the second robber, / who had just cleaned my pockets with swift efficiency, / told the one holding my life at the tip of his knife. / They took pity on me when I told them / there was nothing in my wallet. / They slipped it back. Walked off. / It took my rage weeks to subside. I could see the whites of the wide-open eyes / of the truck driver, as I twitched awake! / He was already moving to his left / to avoid hitting me. But my reflex was to jerk the wheel / to my right to get back into my lane. / I also stomped the brakes. / We came within a hair of a head-on collision, / as he swerved back into his lane. / That was when time switched / to slow motion… / Me sitting still. / Blazer skidding sideways / on the wet grass / along the shoulder. / Dull-black asphalt road passing / in front of me. / No sound. / Finally, / everything / coming to absolute / rest. In this one an invisible hand / still cradles / my bones. © Assef Al-Jundi
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