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This is part of my sand series.
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I liked the concept of this one once I saw the closet. This was taken the same day as the officer’s funeral in the firehall across the street from where the funeral was being held. To me, the empty coat hanger greatly symbolises the lack of a person who should under normal circumstances be there. I know it’s not technically perfect or correct, but I think it adds to the overall feel of things; clearly, life’s not always perfect.
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Charcoal and Chalk 89×68 cm not shown it anywhere as yet, still unframed and unsold. dumb really. hm. I used architecture a great deal in the earlier parts of my career (not actually very long ago now). I invented this piece – I was trying to get across some of the desolation I felt. I have since largely abandoned using structures in my works as central features, I find that nothing in my experience works as effectively as the human figure itself we say so much, so very much with the slightest curve of a pale finger. Still. Ruins are cool. You should see my lungs :-) Fear rant… yeh… When what happens is this: / A moment, an image. A shock of realisation – if that is what it is. / I lift a drink to my lips and there is a red stain on the glass – a viscous, crimson liquid. My pupils widen in shock and I drop the cheap tumbler from my fingers, spilling fluid down the front of my shirt and I think – I know - / For this, this is not sane this is a moment of insanity this is not real. This is so far from real that I am lost. / Can we – does it work in this way in this manner, are we aware? Is knowledge, awareness, a proof of sanity in itself? Is this absolute saturated fear a concrete ridge of rationale? Is it the pace the meter the rhythm of madness? / Can the insane know that they are insane? / OK, ok, yes. Yes. / One from another a step into the fucking light and find a handhold though it is sharp and rusted and tears the hand that grips it – and with creaking bones wrapped in thin flesh lever and pull until once more we are convinced… that this world that we see; that this light that spills over these keys from this screen is the wholeness and purity of the world. / The panic is an illusion a confabulation and is the evidence of wild instability in its very focus and sharp bite. The fear itself is the only answer. It is the depth of it the breadth of its reach in our hearts and fingers that we must, we must control and hold. / That the dark stain existed: that it can be seen by rolling eyes other than mine flashing white and weird in the night: this is not the question that tears. / It is the blind panic itself. Its own monster. Cruel and huge grinning up at me. What happens to us when we snap into focus and listen to the singing blood in our ears. When we know that for this moment despite anything else any appetite or false glow of reason any tight wires across our skins or brilliant lights drawn across our minds – that we can see in our bloody heads and straining fists that for this time this great time this whole moment this exactitude of clocks and paucity of stuttered beats that this is insane? / The thought itself tart and violent in our throats and hands. Defiled and filthy with awareness and self generation but / What / The / Fuck. / Because there is no lie greater and more true than one whispered to ourselves in the night – peeled back in the pain of fear in sweat and tremor in stretching BONE. In the deep moaning terror of silence. It is our own selves creeping behind us, in the shadows, the shadows, the empty stairs of our minds. / This is the horror the truth about black claws that drip and rip. / Of laughter misplaced, hollow. Shuddering and inexplicable. / It has never mattered; more than the soft flesh at our temples, beneath our wild, wild eyes, our wounds sure and sore rough beneath our fluttering eyelids. More than the depth of the shadows in the corners of our cold rooms. It is the cold / INSIDE US / That we must fear. / The sharpness of sudden breath, of smoke that is STILL. / The turn of a jaw the clench of old teeth, feet pressed together bones indeed that TWIST that were never meant to twist whose arc was defined and pure something, yes, / Some part ancient and chill in the deep shadows. / Utterly cognizant inflexibly real frozen in awareness crisp with line and light. That there are bodies hung from hooks somewhere in the skeins and flares and redness; torque and wire-tight flesh lies masques. That there are within us inside us each, monsters and horror. It is that these things that they are that they have us in their dry white grip (our own). / This is the truth. / Our perceptions matter not, never as deeply as our fear. Tease the fear from the hungry wetness of our heads pull it like an old suture from an infected wound; hot to the touch burning and sick. / It is this untamed cut and flare of pain. A bleeding eye that chatters its etiolated bleaching freedom and dawns starring our vision. Fired with life. This IS us, it defines us we are made from fear a mangled hideous groping. The spark in absolute darkness – / It is our genius. / It turns us flesh bone thought and gall into the depth and dismay of the real. The stain spreads impossibly around me, clutching at my skin. / I am out of my mind. I know secret things. I am more alive.
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Taken in Tasmania while on holiday with Jo / A beautiful, but lonely, empty view… www.vividphotography.net see all collaborations with Jo here
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It is quite lonely up there…
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looked to my pillow but it didn’t feel right
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Angers, France
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ink and coffee-stain on watercolor paper. best if viewed full-screen “come closer and tell me all your secrets” just another dream in a quiet world i have to myself. / the salty water splashes against my shins and soaks the cuffs of my jeans. / the sand pulls from below my feet and i am moving backwards. / the lunar eclipse hangs permanently in the sky. / wish you were here…
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This is a painting I did for one of my school projects. I’ve written a short story about a boy who wants candy, but since there’s none at home, he wants to go buy some. And from there on out things happen (which I might tell more about later). =) This is the part in the story where the boy finds out there is no more candy or cookies left, as he checks out the cupboard. Glued some really thin paper (paper that is stuffed in new shoes that you buy, haha) to an A3 sized paper and then painted on it with ink (blue, red, yellow, sepia, black and white ink), and used a dark blue and brown coloured pencil to accentuate some of the lines. =) / Bit of an experiment, but I’m really happy with the result. Also, the empty space on the right is where the text of the story should come (just in case you were wondering). Hope you like it! =D
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All work in this portfolio is © Stephanie Rachel Seely. / These materials (images and poems) may NOT be edited, copied, reproduced, printed, distributed, displayed, performed, or used in any way, in whole or in part, without my written permission. Please respect copyright and do not save or upload any images or poems to Photobucket, Flickr, Myspace, Facebook etc. These creative materials are NOT public domain. This artwork was featured in Live, Love, Dream Stock Credits / Model / Sky/Mountain, Snow, and Textures / Stock copyrights remain the property of their respective owners.
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Mine is a very masculine world…. you get that when you’re the only female in the house. Every now & then I crave something pretty…… [Canon EOS 1000D] Featured – The Woman Photographer – May 2009 TOP TEN FINISH – Tea Served Cottage Style Challenge – November 2009
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The sound of emptiness blasts my ears as I pass around the spaces that vibrate with colors I can not see. They are neither dark or light. Yet I see. As if I am peering through glass and can’t quite make out your features, I fill in the blanks with my imagination. Then I tell myself that’s all it is. Imagination, pretending, wanting. Yet why do I walk around it, even if I don’t believe it is there? I skirt the emptiness as if it is a tree growing in the middle of my path. I walk around and look back and tell myself it is not there, never was, never will be. So why does this shadow have more weight than the sunlight, even if I open the blinds? I don’t know. And yet I do. acrylics on plywood 24”x24”
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Abandoned house, Leavenworth, Indiana Featured on redbubble’s home page.
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Acrylic on canvas / 54×75 cm / 2008 My website / Facebook
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I made this fractal using my Doodle Batch Script in Apophysis. The globes were added post-processing. This is made in Apophysis 2.08 3D Hack. Climbing the stairs to nowhere…..never ending, infinitely rising….. This is my entry into the Because I feel like it Challenge by Fractal Energy Passion and it came in 1st Place! YAY!! Featured in Friends of Redbubble 12-10-09 / /
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The walls are newly painted and the studio awaits the installation of the “newly minted” units which will take place tommorow…I can’t wait…I have a few paintings still hidden in the “Empty Studio” series and this one of flowers was created in the ink wash-off technique, that you saw in a few of the others…it is difficult to end up with detailed work in this style of painting, as the results are unpredictable, but that is the beauty of it…many times it ends up looking like a wood cut... see others in the series below Ink on Arches Paper Different flowers look good to different people / Pick the flower when it is ready to be picked. / The flower that you spent time to care for does not grow while the willow / that your accidentally planted flourishes and gives shade. Chinese Proverbs
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Pluski village near Olsztyn, Poland Featured in / Polish Place / JPG Cast-Offs / Collage and Landscape photography
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Please see my blog for info, and more work :)
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