Madness
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2275 creative works found
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Relief photopolymer plate print. If you want to know more, look up my website. Sorry, you can’t have an original print, the edition is all sold or swapped in a print exchange. The image is available as a card.
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This text is a continuation of that started in the piece immediately preceeding this: sketching mad. I started drinking one afternoon was sure I didn’t go out or see anyone but woke up in a pair of dirty women’s underwear. / I was at a palatial house with a goddess and threw up in her spa. Don’t know her name I don’t think I did even then. / Winters were the worst always lost and drunk and cold always wet and so fucking far to walk in the rain. / Crashing twisting in fear and self-loathing, detesting, despising, abhorring leper outcast unclean. And so goddamned SICK pathetically grateful for whichever nutcase girl was looking after me and holding my long dirty blonde hair out of the bucket. / “Why do you hate us all Paul? Why do you do this?” / “I don’t hate anyone. I have never hated anyone. I am the avatar of dismay. I am the boiling man. I am just too selfish to die. / One of my good friends threw himself from a building and I stayed drunk for weeks. An old and loyal friend fought me in sneering drunken fury, both of so full of poison that we could not even form fists. Neither of us spilling heart’s blood whilst we fought, so young and so completely ridiculous. / Drowning men. / My ex-girlfriend spat in my face that day. Tried to catch a bus and buy vodka with blood running everywhere again from my own cheap knife the despite boiling inside me, rage a crevasse of pathetic sadness and grief for myself. For Andrew. For all of us feeding from ourselves eating our own venom until it bubbled and frothed in our mouths. I didn’t know where I was just fucked it all up and sullied the memory of a good man. Lost and wandering and crying fucked up and such a fool, such a fool so damned my scalding hell heated the slippery corners of my eyes. / He was the funniest fucker I have ever met. / Such waste. / S A D S I C K N E S S. / Fevers of blame and despair. Spreading between us like Andrews’ beautiful young body across the cement. / I miss him still. No note. His mother’s shuddering sobs shall not leave my memory and spilled in echoes over my ruin as I catalysed the manufacture of my own disgust. / Got so used to casualty wards where I would wake up (“seemed euphoric” I read on the chart) with stitches and no idea how I had got there who had taken me. Hit on the nurses, once one reciprocated I couldn’t fucking believe it. More psyche wards again and again I always liked the schizophrenics they were, at least, as mad as me. / Locked wards psychotics everywhere screaming at night. The half hour or hour or whatever the fuck it was we were allowed to wander around outside our cells, the men all of them except me, every one, ALL hung on the wire fence, heads at odd angles staring out, fingers through the chicken wire. Razor wire at the top. / I remember I had a chance to get out and go to the open wards an interview with three guys running the place. I looked forward to it for a week or something I don‘t know the haze too thick, chemical dust deep – I do remember the longing it I thought my articulation would save me again. I hoped and hoped waited got visited by three girls had tried to destroy with the holes in my heart, cutting arcing guilt betrayer that I was, liar, storm of pain my touch and words a plague of emotion. / They didn’t come back I think the number of doors with locks scared them though they all tended to think it was PRETTY FUCKING ROMANTIC. / I was tanked on some hardcore drugs I have no idea what. Varieties of thorazine the zine family yeah, a chemical lobotomy the pain whirling inside, a thrown running power saw spraying meat but no expression nothing connecting, shut out of my own body. / Got to the meeting and I opened my mouth in front of these psychiatrists and I could not SPEAK. Too wasted oh wasted yes but not in the fun way that’s for sure. / I could SHAKE though and I could drool cuz I couldn’t get my facial muscles under any sort of control. So I stayed there for another week or more weeks who the fuck knows? / Hated being there so I longed for squalour ethanol sex attention. Filled instead with drugs and shakes and sobriety. Polluted with chemicals worse oh fucking worse oh yes than my own toxic liquid destruction. / I DARE YOU TO FIX ME! / They had this thing where some poor lost mad bastard would stand up and say the THOUGHT FOR THE DAY after our group meetings with people rocking in the corners. They were all so fucked up most of them could barely speak some not at all others never shut up but they only spoke to people who were not there. I stood up and quoted Shakespeare for ten minutes. Midsummer night’s dream I think I thought it was nice and cheery for everyone. / “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…” / Got out and stayed on the drugs like a good boy but kept drinking and kept cutting. All the fucking useless things did was excise my personality make me impotent make my hair fall out make me fat make me slow and make me HATE. Worst of it was I could not react act my speed acuity lust passion poisoned memory gone awareness gone focused to an angel point into pure hissing SHAME. That I was born in a fucking PARADISE of love and that I had flared brutally, violently bright. I knew history enough to understand that we live in a utopia of humanism; I knew enough LIFE to know that I had been born raised loved and somehow STILL WAS by the most beautiful minds hearts and hands. / Mother. Father. Sister. Every kindness I had repaid with failure. I deserved every torture I could devise to inflict for betraying them so deep and hard, those who threw everything anything they could find to save me into the pyre of my fucking excuse for a life. / Shuffle along undead NOT LIFE PAIN but undead don’t fall and weep with acid logic with scalpel reason undeniable distress killing my father see his eyes watching me tear myself to pieces. Hooks of my own hurt see it in his shoulders slumped he has given up I hurt him so much he is dying ahhhhhHHH. Raised with passionate care, soft hands, sweet voices singing in the night care and care and care such a beautiful boy oh he is so beautiful the boy the betrayer the monster the liar the drunk. / Guilt an endless sun clawing every sense every thought and it was RIGHT it was TRUE the only thing I had ever done was break the bones in the hands that held me. Eat the life deserve this worse such a coward mouth red and sticky and still Life eater ALIVE I was still ALIVE why was I alive? i shall continue more posts tomorrow, serialised hm.
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experimental..
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simple minimalist style but always wanted a shirt like this > <
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Model: / Morf-stock Textures cgtextures.com / shudder-stock / underln-stock / ~amptone-stock Published in the Griffith Review – November issue 08.
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Paranoia is a disturbed thought process characterized by excessive anxiety or fear, often to the point of irrationality and delusion. Paranoid thinking typically includes persecutory beliefs concerning a perceived threat. In the original Greek, παράνοια (paranoia) simply means madness (para = outside; nous = mind) and, historically, this characterization was used to describe any delusional state.
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Doggy Bone
by LyudaDoggy Bone by Lyuda. / lavrentyeva.com
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A nice madhouse
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this is from my new series “portraits of Hope”
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I don’t belive in God…..but I believe in you
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Did this for my son.
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Insanity
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Art and Madness
by RedBubbleVan Gogh cuts off his ear. Sylvia Plath gasses herself. The …
Van Gogh cuts off his ear. Sylvia Plath gasses herself. The link between art and madness gets too deeply explored by some artists. And 80 RedBubblers get into the act in a town outside of Melbourne. They gather for a weekend of art and photography in a disused asylum. WARNING VIDEO CONTAINS ADULT MATERIAL / I could leave it at that. But you know me. So, just a quick thought. I constantly hear (and have heard) of the difference between being practical and useful or not. Having that winning grasp on reality is what is esteemed. And it occurs to me that art dances on the edge of a sort of madness. With art we embellish reality. We go deep behind the pragmatic and we scream that there is more. We declare our humanity lies not in the food we eat and the dollars we earn but in that which cannot be counted and which has no (real) value. Our art stares reality in the eye and offers up a tulip. Tragically some artists push this too far and lose their sanity to art. But out there in the “real” world a greater tragedy unfolds with thousands sacrificing their humanity to a smothering mundanity. You can see the full work produced by the RedBubbler’s at Aradale here. And if you would like help and advice on organising a meetup then please contact support@redbubble.com. Martin (aka PIlgrim)
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“The silence, the silence. Afterwards, I love the silence.” First in a story sequence collaboration with: Model: Gothic waif Brigitte / Art Direction: Rose / Photography/post processing: Geoff 1Ds Mkiii / Tv: 1/100s / Av: f/5.6 / ISO: 200 / Side lit by small flash
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Having an overwhelming interest in customised transport, I created this piece as a self-caricature (and homage to Mad Max Thunderdome) during the recent upsurge in petrol prices- when it reaches $3 per litre, this is what I’ll look like! I drew the original piece with Indian ink and a brush, and then scanned it into Photoshop where I layered paint and textures over the original linework.
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Old Mrs Frog is taking poor Taddy to task…he wants more food (and she just cleaned up the kitchen) gouache and watercolor on recycled craft paper copyright 2008 Elizabeth Rose Stanton / illustration for a children’s story
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In honor of the late Audrey Hepburn, a fabulous actress and even greater humanitarian. Part of my “Icons” Series, the first series to utilize my innovative “inkrub” printmaking technique. Also utilizes graphite, conte, and pastel on top of collaged newspaper.
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FEATURED PAWS ‘N’ CLAWS OCT 2009 / FEATURED CATS AND DOGS OCT 2009 / TWICE FEATURED OCT 2009 MAN’S BEST FRIEND’S / TOP TEN in TOOTHY CHALLENGE MAN’S BEST FRIEND / TOP TEN in AMBER EYES CHALLENGE MAN’S BEST FRIEND It was love at first sight at the park the other day. Who could resist his charms? Somehow, I imagined him to speak with the voice of Bogie, and I was his Bacall- “Play it again Sam.” / / I haven’t submitted a “dog shot” in a while it seems, I remember my first week on RB, it was all dogs, and mostly my dog with a few notable exceptions, heh heh Anyway, I still love ‘em..haven’t met one I didn’t like. This handsome bitser is a tribute the Angel of Dogs in Peru, my dear bubble-friend Viktoryia, who is passionate about the cause of the neglected street dogs, and whose shots of these vulnerable creatures never fail to move my heart. Bravo my bravehearted friend. / This beautiful dog is obviously well cared for and loved, though I recall his owner thought I didn’t stand much chance of a decent shot because of his dark coloring.
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MJRANUM stock.deviantart.com/ Photomanipulation
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