Intimacy 

268 creative works found

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  Bluey
  by Robert Knapman

  Image copyright © 2007, Robert Knapman. Copying and displaying or redistribution of this image without permission from the artist is strictly prohibited.

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  Paper Mache Love
  by Robert Knapman

  This shot goes with some explorations with ‘Love’ as the main theme. They are consistent with inner city life in my work. This one comes from Camperdown in inner city western Sydney. Bits of paper on a toilet wall – simple and fundamental. This was on the wall of a warehouse appartment loo in inner Sydney. Love…what is it, where is it, does it cost or come with a price, where can you get it, where does it go, is it eat in or can you get take away, can one touch it, eat it, play with it…and who gets to play. Is it a given, an expectation, a need, an inheritance…or is it like toilet paper…can you stick it on a wall? And what about romance?

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  Dandelion Intimacy
  by Kathie Nichols

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  waiting for something good
  by bluecitrusart

  part of a project..then again i always have some kind of projects

• regeneration
  by bellmusker

  I almost touched someone today / Almost

  One of the blessings of agoraphobia – and yes, there are a few – is that it gifts you with a finely tuned awareness of safe spaces. Watching life pass by my porch was both a tantalising and yet devastating reminder of what I was unable to embrace. I couldn’t leave my house for an appallingly long time, and I’m still dealing with the intimacy that encompasses reconnecting with people. I still have a lot to learn.

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  The White Noise Of Your Desire
  by pauldrobertson

  Watercolours on paper. New as of 27th of november. / feel like I am moving through milk with a switch of wine or something more course (vodka gin nicotine steel? – the sting of some deadly chemical) threaded through it. Heavy limbs and tingles in my hands and feet. I am considering, remembering. Hard to see. / One of the unique flaws I have. (Unique? Did I just have the fucking audacity to say that?) My memory seems to work in a slightly different way to the way I understand the rest of the human world’s to. This has been made far worse and far more absolute by the ECT (for those new to this particular acronym it stands for Electro Convulsive Therapy. Shock treatment. ST. ILA. I Love Acronyms.) This in that I have realised how little difference there is between my memory as affected by the treatment and my memory unaffected. Little. None? / Say to me of an experience shared, and I will ask of you for more and more specifics, until I can build an image, or a sound, or a SENSATION of some ilk specific to that point, and then the experience in its entirety will flood back into my mind. This is little different from the way everyone else experiences things, excepting, perhaps, the degree of cues needed to spark the fire of memory, and also the extent and exactitude of my recollection. Like a flaking mirror. Like tigers in tall grass. / Like zebras stacked and wrapped in horizontally striped black and white socks. / The interest lies, perhaps, in this specific shard. I do not believe I have more of a facility. I think I have less. I think that I am in this manner more stupid than the people that I know intimately. Than those that I read about. In some sense I am dumber. / I can’t see memory, anyone’s memory, as being a continual, smooth line of experience. / You can drop a lit match into turpentine and it will sizzle out. Also into petrol and methylated spirits. The flash point is over-ridden by the impact with liquid. Zz-sh. Fire-free. / We are formed by our memory and choice, and so much, oh so much so, by the threads of what we have found to be the most powerful and beautiful. I believe that what I have seen informs others of their beliefs and the tenets of morality that instruct them is in actuality some kind of AESTHETICS. Take me down to my essence, to where I brood in my hind brain animal honesty, and you will find this. I believe that it correlates with how everyone (yes, bathe in the light and beauty of this instinct) forms the core of their beliefs. How we are formed. BY BEAUTY. And then from an extension of one selection after another built partially from each other and extracted and separated each time by aesthetic appreciation every instance. / There is some inseparable connection here between memory and action. We remember in some unconscious manner what we have chosen to believe, what we have found most powerful in the past, what HOLDS MORE MEANING FOR US THAN ANYTHING IN OUR EXPERIENCE – and this informs us how we should ACT. How we answer the phone what we eat who we sleep with what pets we have our reaction to the flies buzzing around our brilliant heads, how we will SPEAK and what we will say. Every choice we make. What we are thinking of as we lie dying and which fucking CEREAL we pick. / These things link hands and tell us whisper to us. Beauty and memory. Instinct and experience. Move my hands over the dirty keys and glance outside into the hot white summer light. I choose. We choose. I am informed as to how to choose. By a process I don’t and perhaps can’t understand. / The way we move and behave is extracted by the shattered lines of our memory. It is NOT a procession of smooth and comprehensible awareness. / I think this is what is dictating what I am writing. / And since I feel that I am in this way DUMBER than others, well, hm, I am left in an ocean of unconnected experience. / Bleh. Maybe I am just being a wanker and reading into everything wayyyyy too much.

• 

  More Tired Than I Feel
  by Daniel Rarela

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  Bliss
  by Jaeda DeWalt

  / / Bliss features Jaeda DeWalt posing with model Josh. Image was taken from her series of the same name and is a part of the DeWalt Gallery collection. / —-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—- / Available for sale as Laminated Prints, Cards, Matted Prints, Posters, Mounted Prints, Canvas Prints and Framed Prints / / Image featured in Love, Love, Love group 5-2009 / —-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-— / Bliss Ecstasy . . . / The highest form of escapism / Nothing tastes sweeter to the flesh / We arriving at some / Undefinable destination A heightened realm of sensations / Where the ethereal, surreal and sensual / Become stepping stones to something / That far exceeds / Short-lived pleasures of the flesh Our sense of existence slipping away / Surrendering awareness of this world / Allowing the union of spirits / To transport us into a state of / Pure bliss © Jaeda DeWalt Listen to Jaeda recite Bliss / —-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-— / visit the rest of this series / / —-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-— / Featured in Jaeda’s Je t’aime, Je t’adore calendar. / / / browse Jaeda’s photographic art by category: / dreamscapes, artistic nudes, couples, glamour, erotica, conceptual, sensual, portrait, spiritual, survivor art / /

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  E R O T I Q U E
  by Jaeda DeWalt

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  Intimacy - II
  by Gili Orr

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  Sweet Things
  by Natalie Perkins

  Ink, gouache and watercolour on craft card / This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-No Derivative Works 2.5 Australia License

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  LOVE Affair
  by whittyart

  I fall quicker than I can hold on / I’d wait forever to have you with me / You have no idea sweet lover / The door you have opened to see If I showed you my flame / Would I get burnt if I showed you my pain? / Would you return when I think it’s too late? / As I yearn to run to your kiss in the rain I can feel the bliss of your ocean / You soul’s beauty glowing in your eyes / No hope of turning back to learn / Tears pulled from the sun in disguise If I showed you my flame / Would I get burnt if I showed you my pain? / Would you return when I think it’s too late? / I just want run to your kiss through the rain / Needing to hold you in my eyes forever Nicole Whitty

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  Lovers
  by Elena Ray

  Close up portrait of couple. Photo based illustration.

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  His Hand
  by Robert Knapman

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  Intimacy
  by Deborah Milligan

  Acrylic on canvas. 900mm x 900mm An abstracted landscape piece exploring the concept of intimacy. In this case using a tree and a rockface as symbols of two distinct and seperate ways of being. How do we achieve intimacy when we are so different? How do we complement each other in our relationships? Featured in Abstract Realism May 2009 / Featured in Water Media August 2009

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  Light Play
  by Steve Chapple

• call silas
  by bellmusker

  Why did you write your number on a bathroom wall?

  Haven’t you ever wanted to call? Look at the bathroom of chaos Listen to a classic Learn about this punk mecca I think I just always wanted to begin a story with the word bollocks

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  Rose The White in All Her Intimacy
  by tazzina

  her name is Rose C’tait un gamin un gosse de Paris / Sa seule famille tait sa mere / Une pauvre fille aux grands yeux fltris / Par le chagrin et la misere It was a kid a boy from Paris / His sole family was his mother / A poor girls with big faded eyes / By sorrow and misery / Elle aimait les fleurs, les roses surtout / Et le cher bambin, le dimanche / Lui apportait des roses blanches / Au lieu d’acheter des joujoux / La clinant bien tendrement / Il disait en les lui donnant / She loved flowers, especially roses / And the belowed child, on sundays / Was bringing her some white roses / Instead of buy toys for himself / Caressing her tenderly / He was saying while giving them to her / / c’est aujourd’hui dimanche / Tiens ma jolie maman / Voici des roses blanches / Toi qui les aimes tant / Va quand je serai grand / J’achterai au marchand / Toutes ses roses blanches / Pour toi jolie mam’ “today it’s sunday / Here my beautiful mom / Here are some white roses / You who love them so much / Go when i’ll grow old / I will buy from the store / All of his white roses / For you beautiful mommy” / Au dernier printemps le destin brutal / Vint frapper la blonde ouvrire / Elle tomba malade et pour l’hopital / Le gamin vit partir sa mre / Un matin d’avril parmi les promeneurs / N’ayant plus un sous dans sa poche / Sur un march le pauvre gosse / Furtivement vola quelques fleurs / La fleuriste l’ayant surpris, en baissant la tte il lui dit On last spring brutal destiny / Came hitting the blond worker / She became ill and for the hospital / The boy saw his mother leave / A morning of april among the walkers / Not having anymore a single penny in his pocket / On the market the poor boy / Furtively stole some flowers / The florist (woman) having caught him, lowering his eyes he told her / c’est aujourd’hui dimanche / Et j’allais voir maman / J’ai pris ces roses blanches / Elle les aiment tant / Sur son petit lit blanc / L-bas elle m’attend / J’ai pris ces roses blanches / Pour ma jolie mam’ “today it’s sunday / And i was going to visit mommy / I took those white roses / She love them so much / On her little white bed / In there she’s waiting for me / I took those white roses / For my beautiful mommy” / La marchande mue doucement lui dit / emporte-les je te les donne / Elle l’embrassa et l’enfant partit / Tout rayonnant qu’on le pardonne / Puis l’hpital il vint en courant / Pour offrir les fleurs sa mre / Mais en le voyant une infirmire / Lui dit: tu n’as plus de mam / Et le gamin s’agenouillant, dit devant le petit lit blanc The touched merchant told him softly / “have them i give them to you” / She kissed him and he left / All shinning that he was forgiven / Then to the hospital he came running / To offer the flowers to his mother / But seeing him a nurse / Told him: “you no longer have a mommy” / And the boy kneeling down told in front of the little white bed / c’est aujourd’hui dimanche / Tiens ma jolie maman / Voici des roses blanches / Toi qui les aimais tant / Et quand tu t’en iras / Au grand jardin l-bas / Ces belles roses blanches / Tu les emporter “today it’s sunday / Here my beautiful mom / Here are some white roses / You who loved them so much / And when you’ll leave / To the great garden up there / Those beautiful white roses / You’ll bring them along”* S.D.

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  Shattered Intimacy
  by Reynaldo

  2009 Acrylic on 140 lb. Watercolour paper 18×24’” From Llagrimas Series, A tale of Abused and Battered Women Inspired by Original drawing from Artist/Writer Anthea Slade / Thank you Anthea for your powerful drawing! Story to come from Anthea Slade

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  Intimacy
  by Ebbers

  Hush, now… / It’s just between you and me. Canon EOS 30D DSLR

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  Intercourse
  by James Birkbeck

  Not exactly what it seems…. these are both my own hands ;-) Shot in the wee hours.

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  Intimacy = INTO MY SEA
  by James Lewis Hamilton

  An acrylic painting 36” x 48” with layers of Golden metallic and transference paints. They make this original glow in totally different ways depending on the light and angle of view. / The image is constantly changing its nuances, like a good friend or lover.

• red poppy song
  by bellmusker

  We know better.

  It’s Hallowe’en this weekend in the northern hemisphere, and Beltaine in the southern. It’s traditionally a time to embrace the darkness, and then release it. It’s harder than it seems, sometimes.

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  Hands Upon Me
  by Jaeda DeWalt

  View All Art » 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 / / A behind the scenes picture from the cover shoot for Jaeda’s book, Haunting Hands (Jaeda center). Image shot with a self-timer and photographed with Kodak CN400 film (black & white film that’s processed in C-41 chemistry). / —-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—- / Available for sale as Laminated Prints, Matted Prints, Posters, Mounted Prints, Canvas Prints and Framed Prints / / —-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-— / You might also like . . . / / —-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-— / View All Art » 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 browse Jaeda’s photographic art by category: / dreamscapes, artistic nudes, couples, glamour, erotica, conceptual, sensual, portrait, spiritual, survivor art / /