Expression paint
379 creative works found
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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 The withdrawn analytical front, designed for most occasions.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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Fantastic figure musical
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Fantastic figure
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A revised version of my ‘Middlesbrough Drops’ watercolour painting. The coal drops on the river Tees estuary, in the 1830’s. / In the foreground, is the Tees river ferry – which in those days, was a small, rowing boat. I love the daunting and weird, distant grey structures, ready to drop the coal upon the collier (coal) ships. My version of a Thomas Harrison Hair, 1837 watercolour. Watercolour and HB pencil.
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The original painting is 30” x 20” acrylic on 4 cm deep stretched canvas frame. You can find Original art for sale from the Arts-fine online gallery
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Oils on canvas (50×70 cm) I had lots of fun painting this scene of three brothers hard at work on the beach… One little fellow is trying hard to remove clay and sand from the hole they dug but ends up dropping half his spadeful back into the water… Another little brother huffs and puffs his way up to the pool but his bucket is always half full by the time he reaches it… And the oldest brother… well, judging from the grin, he must be the ‘supervisor’... This painting was done at request from Lisa Wilson and the three brothers are her little sons. I used different photographs and with different poses to make up a story for this painting!! I hope you like it Lisa!!
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The guys from Wardan Aboriginal Centre and the Noyt Kobori Spirit Dancers really put on a wonderful traditional performance for us at the Busselton Beach Festival…. the music and dance was spectacular and fascinating to see. The amazing part was how many children from the audience got up to dance as well, given the fact that judging by this face, it might have been a little “scary”!!!! Thank you “David”! More images can be found here
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From drizzle to drowning. From dawn to middle of the night dreams that wake me up with a “pow.” That’s it. The answer. Then in the morning the drift falls from a darkened hollow into swirls of vapor and across a seaweed forest. My pencil scrapes. My brush strokes. Awaken. Awake to dream again. A struggle to find an answer that is forgotten in the effort to do do do what I think I must must must and drive myself crazy trying to escape. To sleep on my feet in a daydream of forest palms towering over and pools of languid, blue, mirrors instead of piles of dirty laundry. Or maybe it is all really the same. / The answer laying in the soft white shift of a sheet from a drier in sunlight and waving at the light’s own laughter at the sun. / acrylic on fabric. about 4 ft x 7 ft not stretched. Order high quality cards and prints of this artwork on this Website in a variety of sizes and styles. For information on original or use of image please contact John Fish
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Raw
by Nina SMARTOne day, not that long ago, she appeared out of the raw canvas and she was very welcome!
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Speak softly. The storm may hear you. It rages just beyond the curtains. Dancing showers of sequins fall from lightening bolts over rooftops, into cracks between brick walls, over punch bowls and onto plates left with half eaten pieces of cake. The shimmer of linen at the window waves to enter, to escape, to burn, to excite, to play with electric limbs that circle the courtyard with a chorus line of plodding feet. The shouts say they are from the sun. Yet I know better. It is heat from shadows that pulses from cloudbursts of liquid flame growing hot whenever they are noticed. So don’t even look at them. They will grow brighter. Stay inside. And speak softly. Though I know I am really outside. And they are in. I can always pretend to be hiding. It’s easier than pretending to live. At least for a while. acrylic on paper 22”x28” / new series dealing with a theme of phobias and fears
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I don’t know where to go because I don’t really want to go anywhere. The gravity that pulls my feet is annoying and I lift a leg to dance away into the twilight’s shadows. I see through the fog of my own prison and reach out a hand that doesn’t seem like it belongs to me. I reach to the space I have seen in dreams and movies and unremembered journeys. We held hands in my mind. We were married before the sunrise overlooking a hill that drifted downward to the sea and the glass buildings of empty games. We sang to each other in my mind. We agreed to not agree. We were making love as we walked. Yet it was only in my mind. / And now I look at Venetian blinds that are stained with the smoke of memory and loss. I look beyond. I don’t wish to sleep. Not yet. So I allow myself to drift beyond the plastic and the wood and the metal and the plaster and fall into a hike along a rainbow sea that runs through a canyon of vibrant foliage and drifts away through mist and the light of accidental spontaneous freedom. Yet it is only in my mind. Or is it? And do I care?
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There is emptiness. Full of longing. Full of bubbles of the thread of light that glistens with no purpose except to be. The fullness is vague, confusing, eternally too big for me to see. Yet it is too small to hold. The air folds over into water and sand. The lava of life force drains into ponds of music. This matter glows with patterns of color and shadow. / It is not empty at all. I look as hard as I can and search for a direction. All I see is a door. Then two doors. Closed for now. Yet is anything really closed? Is it really a door? Or is it an idea I have formed? Is it just a different kind of space? The space around me whirls in my eyes to my hands to my brain to my ears that hear the tinkle tinkle tinkle of a wind chime that clatters on the door frame and spills to the window and binds me with the surroundings which are everywhere and everything. Moving is constant even when I stay still. Trying to focus. Trying to try. Then giving up. And just enjoying the blue glow and the odor of coffee and the sound of a whisper and the feel of cotton and the breath of loved ones here and there and nowhere and everywhere and the speech of a song’s lyrics that reverberates in my head, brain, and every cell that swims with the tide of openness and freedom and compassion and knowledge and gratitude. / And all I can say, in my lack of understanding, is “thank you.” Door Waiting to Open is acrylic paint, gesso, India ink and marking pen on poster board 15”x20”
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SOMETHING IN HER EYES WAS SO EXCITING….. / SOMETHING IN HER SMILE WAS SO INVITING….. Acrylic painting on heavy watercolour paper ( 42 cm / 60 cm),sold. Many thanks for stopping by ! SOULFUL EXPRESSION WAS FEATURED IN FINE ARTS GROUP…..13-07-09! SOULFUL EXPRESSION WAS FEATURED IN THE HAIRSTYLE GROUP -10-08-09!
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Walking quietly, he crept along the hidden harbor lights and blew them out. One by one. He slid between wood and water and felt for dry land. His fingers slipped through sand that trickled across his chest, down his pant legs and onto the boardwalk. He looked up and saw, through beams of fog, through wedges of flashing light, through fluttering wings of either angels or doves or pigeons, saw through countless pillows of resentment that had curdled into anger, saw through pangs of love lost and love found and love forgotten and love unappreciated and love lust love lust love lust, saw through the eyelids of the being he was born as that he had not remembered until this second, and saw saw saw the boat come in. It was a sad little ship. Yet it was just right for him. Perfect. And he was glad he had waited. Now he could sail. “Boat Has Landed” is acrylic and gesso on heavy paper 15”x20”
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Glance to the window and then back and then to the sky and then to the walls waiting for words to let go and move. Holding fast inside a dream and always wanting to escape and then to run home and then to move and then to settle in. I remain in one spot for a second and see, if not enjoy, the view. / Hard walls, melting into dark sun streaks left for the heated concrete. Rusted foliage and stale clouds. And inside are crowds. Outside are faces. Everywhere are windows, ruins of the future rising into cold fortresses. / I see through the surface to the stars. The wonder of the light. / I realize I am right where I am suppose to be. Someone told me that long ago. I didn’t like it. Now they are gone. I remember. This can’t be a prison if it is chosen. It is all a playground. Forever changing. Walls only crumbling reflections from and into my own mind’s eye. / Another eyesight sees beyond. Or tries to. / Yet for now, this is a chosen place. Not a lesson, but a heaven. Not a restraint, but a dance. Not an end, but a beginning. Not a wall, but a mirror. This a Chosen Place is 24”x36” acrylic and India ink on canvas. July 2009
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Letting go to swim in the heat of day I jump, frown, feel dizzy and hold onto the side of a doorway. As if I will fall. Or maybe the door is falling. I am only threading a needle with time and hoping today with be tomorrow and yet then it will be too soon. I feel as if I’m hanging on by a thread. And the next day is similar. I don’t understand what is the problem. Then I realize there really isn’t one. So it’s OK. I can let go of the thin safe string and drift out to sea or to the clouds or just across the street or inward to a place of forever color and never ending sign posts leading to my soul. / Hanging on by a Thread is acrylic, gesso, ink on canvas 30 in. X 30 in.
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WET
by artistmindoil on canvas / super fast painting. I would like to consider this more on the abstract expressionism side. I usually paint with more detail and so may I’ll go back at a later time when it drys and add some more depth. myspace.com/artistmind
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Soo I got alittle frustrated with all the smoke here in southern California, and noticed ash all over my patio….so decided to paint with it. / Just sad to see alll those trees and homes gone, and decided there must be some good somewhere from all this disaster and 2 lost firemen. This painting will be a reminder to me of the horrible loss, and the 2 men whom lost there lives because of someones evil selfish pleasure. ~Artistmind / myspace.com/Artistmind 8.5×11” card paper / mixed medium: ink oil paint, earth, ash, watercolor, acrylic, paint
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paint, ink, pencil on card paper / 8.5×11”
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Oil on canvas, 18” x 14” (457×356mm I’ve borrowed the title of a poem by Samuel Beckett for this painting. I can’t quote the whole poem but here’s a section: at the faint sound so brief / it is gone and the whole globe / not yet bare / the eye / opens wide / wide / till in the end / nothing more / shutters it again
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Please come join me at myspace.com/Artistmind oil on canvas / 14×24”
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The Irony was not lost on me with this one. this was by far the most frustrating thing I have ever created. / I had envisioned a completely different shot to this when i came up with the concept. But it just wouldn’t work, no matter what i did it just would not co-operate and work out how it should. I tried everything to get what i wanted, i couldn’t get the perspective right, i couldn’t get the framing right, i couldn’t get the composition right, the hair and wardrobe didn’t look how it should, Strongest hair gel you can get my ass… it was all so fucking frustrating… once i got sick of trying and failing and wanting to put the axe through my camera and head, i decided to go a completely different route, this is that route…. I do like this shot though, its quite different than what i had in mind, but it works. One day i will do it again, and it will work…. it better… / . / I’m sure many of you can relate to this idea, this isn’t just a reflection of Artist against their Art, the art is our world, and we get so frustrated when it doesn’t work out, lately I have been feeling quite down and out over events and thoughts I’ve been thinking about non stop, so i decided to make this… / . Self / Nikon D90-18-200mm . Featured in: / Unconventional Artistry / Self As Other / Anger Management
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Sakura / 22” x 36” / Acrylic and Sumi e Ink / . Music by Shakira and Mylene Farmer / . / . / Featured in Live and Let Live Group / . / Featured in Painted Ladies / . / . I was inspired by the great Chinese Artist Hung Liu… such a fantastic art show!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!:D / . / . / I let my music and imagination take over / dancing from one room to the next… with every step…. revealing a mischievous secret. / ~ Ming Myaskovsky / . / .
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