Master
5 members found (show all)
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Challenge Master
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Peter Masters
Australia
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Leanne Masters
473 creative works found
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Through A Glass Darkly. By Paul D Robertson Pastels 140 cms x 97 I like this piece very much. Sometimes in my work I can witness myself taking leaps of quality, and I believe that this is one of those times. It is an indescribable sensation to see my own hands make something such as this. I begin the with a person, a woman, before me, some materials – paper, chalk, paint. At the end of the slow still hours quickening my fingers, I surface from the fugue and wake from the trance of working. And sometimes I have something before me that is beautiful that did not exist, that what the world did not hold before I began. And it will last for centuries. I love the idea of obscured reflections and scattered and refracted light – my desire to work is pushed further every time I stumble upon something I know I must pursue. In many of my works, whenever it is practical, I will place a left-hand print on a wall or smudging a piece of glass. I have done this for years, and I will never stop. Recently the idea occurred to me that since this has become one of the defining symbols within my work, I could execute a piece based entire on the idea. So I made it happen. I forced it into existence. And I am so left handed, you see, that I almost walk with a limp.
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WHY NOT speak truth and long and exhale hard into the empty hearts the softness of the night I don’t know I don’t know I seem to be in and out and up and down and it / Seems like it would all be a big fucking drama. I have coped sooo well for so long I have tried so hard I know you will / understand, I gave up drinking and it nearly killed me so many times and I / WANT A DRINK RIGHT NOW this is why I keep a dry house except when it is / raining or I play with the hose / Haven’t had a drink since 98 so many YEARS not a sip not a drug nothing to ever / stop the shit in my head from going round and fucking round and I feel so / SICK all the time. / What the fuck are we all looking for where is an answer? I have read / Descartes and Kant and Nietzsche and the bible there’s nothing the fuck / THERE! / I can’t stop shaking and it is hard to type, but I will not call some / guys in white jackets with somber kind expressions and very clean shoes. / I have taken my clonazepam and I did NOT overdose even of I wanted to; I will do some WORK and call my doctor tomorrow and this desperation will continue, part of the answer, the real answer is that there is NOT AN ANSWER and I will have to trade my mind for my life for a while WHAT THE FUCK KIND OF DEAL IS THAT?? EXCISE my personality remove expunge it – all my work will STOP / and it can’t hold me close to it hangs me from sticky painty threads / I am on the cusp, a breath, a stroke away from something / extraordinary. Balancing and teetering but heavy with velocity and density / “I have to wait. Just a few weeks, a few million seconds, if that’s enough. / It’s moving slow but heavy (radius and inertia and depth) like an oil tanker / or a tectonic plate. Hurts too much. I’m too tired. / I lost the keys. I thought I had them for a while but they turned out to be / the wrong ones. I was wrong again. / I have no will. Come on, give me the crook of your arm to cry on. I’ll tell you about the menagerie of moons and press your hand between my / hands and wishwishwish.” / Quote MYSELF sure. / But for right now my meds are squishing down my brain like printing press / and I / I have avoided it one more night. / I will sleep
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This is my absolute favourite paring ever! My reproduction of an artwork called Lily’s Embrace done by Perselus on deviantart.com. (I have contacted the original artist, and she is aware that my reproduction of her work is posted here.) Done in pencil. A Severus Snape/Lily (Evans) Potter fan piece. Check out all of my Snape art here
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Charcoal and chalk, 120×90cms. In the corners of our sweaty palms, nested in the secret lines twisting bizarre and unique. In the softest inane creak as the bones in our fingers curl. Longing, have you felt it in the tips of your fingers, pulling at the flesh on the inside of your arms? Have you ever felt your muscles jerk – sudden and violent, overwhelmed for a moment by craving? Brutal. / Irresistible. / It is a mundane magic – our own unconscious smile suddenly seen and caught, disarming and warm in a glimpsed reflection. As probability collapses. In the trickle of wishes at the back of our necks. / Beatific in hope; a frisson of what may be. If it might oh let it. This magic – a mute spell of touch…the spell of the never-seen small of our backs pressed against the warm belly of a lover. It is as magical as the scale, the startling magnitude of hunger as we kiss and kiss and kiss. Lips hot slippery hot against our own. The immersion of lust… a moment etiolated a welcome trick of tongues that in this at least cannot lie – but it ends! – a click of white teeth on stained. Breathless and sudden and sticky. Saliva cooling on our cheeks in the night air. / The lock; the click of that skin pressed so easily with such lazy comfort. I believe in never. / I believe in all the way.
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Old Masters Series (Print 8) by Alf Caruana was voted the most popular entry in this challenge with 17 votes. / This work will be exhibited at the / Brunswick Street Gallery from August 1st to August 14th Thank you all who voted
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Oils on Canvas, Paul Robertson. 90×72 cms. I made this painting up almost entirely. The idea of the sublime, beauty and ecstasy. Is it not beautiful? Sure, yes. Shadows that are beautiful. I finished it on my 34th birthday. Marks and notches in time. For which I was given a PADDLING POOL from my best friend Jessica. AND she ALSO made a CHEESECAKE! / Wow. This piece came second in the international competition: The “Emotional Compass Art Award.” Technically “The 41st Annual Congress Art Awards” – for the – “Royal Australia and New Zealand College of Psychiatrists.” The fact that this was a psychiatric convention sponsoring an art award is in actuality entirely incidental. There were pieces there with price tage over 50 grand. One or two were actually good. Well. One. In this instance the psychiatric context had nothing to do with my bipolar, nor was this connection even how I learned of the award. / This is not the first time the whorls and worlds in my work have crossed paths with psychiatry, and found response, reaction. Even cash. My last psychiatric nurse bought the piece “Stairwell I‿ as have other mental health professionals. Odd. / This is my first international award. It is a big deal for me.
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watercolours… / Finished this TODAY – 22 nov 2007. Tis of my friend and ex Kylie, who rules. / This piece is part of a diptych (did I put the ‘y’ in the right place?) / The second work is “For What They Have Seen The diptych… Blame Your Green Eyes, For What They Have Seen The song that sang the title (I wrote it this yer sometime. As in 2007. I think.) You nail my guitar to the bedroom wall / You lick your lips promise me more / Take my nail polish, go out to score / But I can’t, I won’t help anymore. That final appointment waiting in line / A scar on the flesh of your inner thigh, / A casual promise and a white lie / Where the old bridge splits the hot night sky CHORUS / Our little deaths / Holding your breath / I’ll always be less / Always a mess / Ill never confess / To the cuts on my flesh / Or the tears on your dress / Are all we have left You carry the heat all bloody and keen / Hot with this fever since you were 15 / Stones you’ve kept for each lie you have been / Blame your green eyes, for what they have seen We kissed on the beach last Halloween. / And now we’ll never forget the shit we have seen / The hell in the wall the gorgeous machine / The tiny mad children that we have both been and here’s a rant… from around 2002 or so. heh. I have coped sooo welll for soo long I have tried so hard I know u will / understand, I gave up drinking and it nearly killed me so many times and I / WANT A DRINK RIGHT NOW this is why I keep a dry house except when it is / raining or i play with the hose / haven’t had a drink since ‘98 not a sip not a drug nothing to ever / stop the shit in my head from going round and fucking round and i feel so / SICK all the time / what the fuck are we all looking for where is an answer? i have read / Descartes and Kant and Nietzsche and the bible there’s nothing the fuck / THERE! / i can’t stop shaking and it is hard to type, but i will not call some / guys in white jackets with sombre kind expressions and very clean shoes. / i have taken my clonazepam n i did NOT od even of i wanted to; i will do / some WORK and call my doctor tomorrow and this desperation will continue, / part of the answer, the real answer is that there is NOT AN ANSWER and i / will have to trade my mind for my life for a while WHAT THE FUCK KIND OF / DEAL IS THAT?? EXCISE my personality remove expunge it – all my work will STOP / and it can’t hold me close to it hangs me - / balancing and teetering but heavy with velocity and density but for right now my meds r squia=shing down my brain like a printing press / and i / i have avoided it one more night. / i will sleep / i willbe ok / but i migh / maybe i can finally find someonewho can beat me at chess…t o to hospital / tomorrow if they let me take my paint and my giant books. / I have had some experience with ppl in complete denial of the reality of mental illness. I didn’t tell anyone at uni about my bipolar. After i had graduated, i had made a lot of friends, and eventually told them about it. reasonably soon after that i had an acute, and prolonged manic episode. They basically thought i was just being a prick by shouting “I am king!!” from anything tall i could find and stand on. the worst part was when i crashed after that – no understanding, not even an attempt. They were (mostly) completely against any sort of treatment. / These ppl were very important to me, and i was living with several of them for this period. Fortunately my family was able to help, and i stayed with my father for some time. While i was acutely manic (really starting to lose it thass fer sure) i had a psychology STUDENT explain to me how i wasn’t sick, the drug companies were exploiting me, in my infinite naiveté. I was a lamb to their wallets. Being manic, I tore her to shreds. She was very close to one of my friends and flat mates – told her and everyone else that i had yelled at her because SHE WAS sTUDYING PSYCHOLOGY. Scary thing is she was about to graduate and go out into the world with this idea. scarier still that someone in the psyche faculty had taught it to her. i don’t see any of the friends that i had made at uni – indeed i have very few friends. I am cautious (um apart from right now with um women). I always tell ppl about my bp if they become close to me. / It is incredibly common, and still amazes me how little ppl know, or more importantly, WILL ACCEPT AS TRUE. / me: / “i have bipolar affective disorder.” / Member of Public (shall be acronominised to “MOP”) / “huh?” / me / “i have manic depression.” / MOP: / “oh. sure. NO YOU DON’T!! HEY AND SHUT UP I’M TRYING TO READ tv week!! Don’t you know what’s happening to ridge and Taylor??” (um had to do some research but Taylor is a psychiatrist apparently? hahahahhahhahahaaa hahaha) / hahahahahaaa i forgive her / she is hot. / rambling now huh? sorry. / hm yeh. sold a painting… yay. paid my bills yay. got fined for crashing into that guy . boo. hiss. / am having scary efexor withdrawals. boo. hiss. yuck. boo. hiss. halucinating. boo hiss… little natalie portman monsters scuttling around at the corner of my vision. boo hiss. not even naked. booo hiss. painting more than ever bfore in my life i think. yay. tried very challenging watercolours yesterday an d did em with no wu-ckerings. yay. 2 in one day. yay. can’t afford to frame all this new stuff but will try n get the grant folks to give me more moneys. yay/boo? am lonely. boo am scared BOO! (gah runs n hides behind chair) my efexor (anti depressant) withdrawals… i have these shaky things and i think i am starting to act like a mad guy more than usual in public. The hallucinations are real, tho no natalie portman (boo hiss!). just keep seeing things out of the corner of my eye that are not there. I mean i think they aren’t. / very bad thing is i nearly had an accident today trying to avoid one of them. yeah and i was driving, didn’t mean, like a bedwetting accident or anything like that. / I am trying clonazepam and valium (together hand in claw, probably a bad idea. oops) they make me cranky and now i am forced to sit on my rocking chair with a shotgun, chew some baccy n whittle and now and then shoot at the natalie monsters. had a wee bit of a collapse in the street, but got up again :). haven’t told anyone not online bout that. sensory overload. / it’s pretty strange, i think i recognise the brain-shivers that from a horror movie or book or comic or memory. / And yet i am not depressed. the painting helps a hell of a lot. focus i guess. / Am seeing my psyche tomorrow. i think i might have to go um to hospital but THEY ARE ALL NUTS IN THERE. and i don’t just mean the staff. maybe not. probably should. / and now, oh this is quite weird i think. i am quite used to having self-harm and suicidal thoughts- accompanied normally by mixed state, “black mania.” / But NOW i still have the same desires but in a very different way… almost like contemplating a far less important or destructive act. i am not joking now. only example i can think of is: do i have a cup of tea or stick this sharp thing in my neck? and i am not in a depressed state when thinking it. almost HUMMING. I come back into myself with a jolt of feeling, not afraid of it but guilty. Still wanting it. I have been trying to deal with this illness for a while (9 years give or take an episode since diagnosis) and most of this is new to me. it scares me in rational moments, but most of the time the anxiety is entirely SEPARATE from the rest of the symptoms. / i believe that my disorder has pretty much taken over. Even while typing this i have gone thru a few moods irrationally. Up mostly, but i cried when i read some of the other posts. / I am being a very good boy; i mean, i am eating and excersizing, taking lamactil and cleaning behind my ears and it has been a while since i have set any pets on fire. None of this makes any difference. I think it is well past time for bed. It is empty, should fix that. With perhaps consistency instead of diversity. Hmm. I have been having an odd month. I went back to my psyche and was prescribed lorazepam (like valium sort of). It was wonderful – anxiety evaporated, sleep pattern returned to normal, and I wasn’t stoned out of my head all the time after the first couple of days on a regular dose. / then I came off it. / I thought that I had some horrible flu or something bcuz I lay in bed for a couple of days with horrible shivers bordering on convulsions, stumbled around heaps the 2 or three times I got out of bed to get more water, and had mild fever-type hallucinations. Which were kind of cool cause I thought, u know, hey I remember u from a few weeks ago from my mixed state – hi! Isn’t it nice to see the synchronicity of our bodies in distress? / But then the anxiety returned and I did some research; also talked to my psyche about it and twas withdrawal apparently. Haven’t gone thru much like that since I was a-drinkin’ still. It is a very affective but highly physiologically addictive drug. / I have also been having continual problems with nausea. Have got ginger. I eat it. It sort of works. / Came back full circle to where i was what with shakes and mixed state symptoms n al, so now am on clonazepam (ten times stronger than valium but the same shit basically). I have had some real problems with this too – I am slowly trying to get myself off it as it affects my coordination and O MY GOD MY SEX DRIVE but tried to do it last week too fast or somethin’ and was a real mess. I went to the drug sites for both lorazepam and clonazepam to get a full view of the symptoms and all that I am going thru is well documented. I just happened to be in the bracket that reacted strongly to withdrawal. Must be my addictive nature. / Bleh. / So. / Where I am atm is that I am nearly off clonazepam (I had real trouble reading the details on the bottle bcuz I wrote PROTON ENERGY PILLS in black marker all across it) / I am only on half a tab a day (1mg) plus my lamotragine. / I think I am thru the worst of this one and out t’other side. If I go for 2 days without any clonazepam I go straight back to the way I was just before hospital (not quite as bad though – I think the lamotragine is working.) / And I have been working constantly. / And selling stuff also. Have had an artistic epiphany of sorts and am working it out piece by piece (um that would b entirely literal). / Problem is I am producing far more than selling (2:1 ratio) which is pretty good but blew all my money on getting all my work printed properly for a walking folio – and am still doing dumb things like I left the heater on for a few weeks and just got a pretty large bill from mr gas company guy that I am impressed they fit in my mailbox. / It means that it is hard to get things framed mostly. / I am much less death fixated also. / Am not going outside today. / I saw a spider there just last week.
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s’ok, he’s looking the other way ;) Mooloolaba, Sunshine Coast, Queensland. / f/22, HDR from three bracketed exposures, ISO 50, 16-35mm lens at 16mm. Canon 5D, cable release, tripod, Lee filters ND Grad 0.6 and 0.9 REAL ESTATE SERIES / NEW ZEALAND / FROGS / LENSBABY / INFRARED / BEACH / INDUSTRIAL / PANORAMAS / LANDSCAPES / SPAM PHOTOS
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For what they have seen. Watercolours on paper. 100 cms x 70 or so. Finally finished the second component of this diptych today the first piece is Blame Your Green Eyes / / The diptych… Blame Your Green Eyes, For What They Have Seen hm – erm sometime after Christmas 2007 but not too long cuz I just ate reheated PUDDING which was FANTASTIC even though it is made with suet. Damn. Shouldn’t have thought of that. No really. Damn. Am adding the song that I wrote from whence I took the titles to the two works… and to the diptych that contains them both. I am allowed. I’m special. Like Ralph in The Simpsons. OUR LITTLE DEATHS… (The chords also rock.) you nail my guitar to the bedroom wall / you lick your lips promise me more / take my nail polish, go out to score / but I can’t, I won’t help anymore. That final appointment waiting in line / A scar on the flesh of your inner thigh, / A casual promise and a white lie / Where the old bridge splits the hot night sky CHORUS / Our little deaths / Holding your breath / I’ll always be less / Always a mess / Ill never confess / To the cuts on my flesh / Or the tears on your dress / Are all we have left You carry the heat all bloody and keen / Hot with this fever since you were 15 / Stones you’ve kept for each lie you have been / Blame your green eyes, for what they have seen We kissed on the beach last Halloween. / And now we’ll never forget the shit we have seen / The hell in the wall the gorgeous machine / The tiny mad children that we have both been The model is my beautiful, kind and talented ex and friend, Kylie. She is way cool. She has a remote control darlek. I mean. That… is cool. ooh. Ah. Hm. Um. / / I 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 guess. / 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.
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Gallery 1 / Gallery 2 / Gallery 3 / Gallery 4 / Gallery 5 / Gallery 6 The Camel tears. ============================== / Best viewed in large view for details The talanted Sally Omar / got inspired by This work and wrote this Poem to go with this Image , Thank you my friend. / —-—-—-—-—-— / YES MASTER Thank you for letting me sit for a while / We have walked many miles / I am tired and I have a heavy load / Travelling so far on this sandy road / See my Master I am shedding tears / Doing this for too many years / We have travelled this lonesome place / With sweat dripping down your face / Can we not find something else to do / This is alot of work for me and you / Perhaps we can take a trip / I hear that there are ships / Do they allow Camels inside / Or do you think I must hide / You are a good Master I must say / For allowing me to sit this way / When you speak I understand / And you always give me a hand / I know that you are tired too / Sorry I can’t sing a song for you / It’s really hot and I feel I can’t breathe / When you get up I’ll follow your lead / I guess it’s time to be on our way / We’ll be walking for several days / Now when you are tired sit on my back / I will keep us on the right track / Then again when we’ve walked more miles / Let’s sit down and talk awhile YES, MASTER / —-—-—-—-—-—-- {{{{{{{{{{{ ART PRINTS & CARDS }}}}}}}}}}}
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a small difference
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More fanart Captain Jack Harkness (John Barrowman) from Dr Who/Torchwood, Captain Jack Sparrow (Johnny Depp) from Pirates of the Caribbean and Captain Jack Aubrey (Russell Crowe) from Master and Commander.
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Some things in life are just all too controlling… Check out Breaking the Code
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Bitumen on board. Yes… bitumen, like on the road. bout a meter across. / Still got the original. Wierd. / I started this piece about 5 years ago and had it hanging in a fancy gallery in Queensland for a little while. I thought they had kept it as they generally did their very best in their expensive sensible shoes and craven sexless souls to fuck me over. This was my first experience of galleries, and I met it with a baffled sadness. I met everything with a baffled sadness at the time because I was once again a drowning man, despair filling me full and making me cry. The gallery also made me feel like a fool. Humiliation… ah well. / So I didn’t try and get it back. I found it a little while ago at my sister’s house; she had picked it up from the gallery somehow with her mysterious efficiency. I thought “hey that’s pretty cool I wonder what great artist has left a painting just lying around in my sister’s house? Oh it’s ME!” / I worked on it off and on for a couple of weeks and this is the result. I don’t actually remember who posed for me, my memory being as odd as it is. It has that aching sense that I am always always always aiming; struggling for like a hungry monkey… grappling with a greased up hairless human BANANA SUFFRAGE and EMANCAPATION SUPPORTER holding a melting banana double split.
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Gallery 1 / Gallery 2 / Gallery 3 / Gallery 4 / Gallery 5 / Gallery 6 For the first time this dear painting is out to be seen in public since I created her I kept her to myself over 2 years ago orignal 100×80 cm , canvas. / Best to be seen in LARGE view for details. {{{{{{{{{{{ ART PRINTS & CARDS }}}}}}}}}}}
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This is the final piece in the Old Masters series. / I wanted the final image to have more impact then the rest of the series.
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- better shot. Pastels on Paper. / 120×90 cms pastels… not sold the original as of april 2007. not SHOWN IT either. 120×90cms I have chronic bipolar disorder… it sucks, mostly. I don’t seem to be able to stop being too hot or too cold. I should probably get a house with air conditioning (I will just spray the conditioner I have in my bathroom up n down and all around and see if that helps.) I USED to have air conditioning at my house – I wrote on the controls in purple felt tip pen “for permed or colour treated air.” / OK well I have done all the remarkably simple tasks necessary for this morning and for me they were mammoth undertakings requiring much sweat and most of all, courage. Just have to ignore all the fear and go DO IT ALL ANYWAY. / Hm…I love the names of paints. Not the ones that they come up with for you to paint your house with. I have always thought I would be good at that though – / For your lounge “winter ferret” and for your kitchen, “happy exploding sunflower” and in your dining room, “fragrant maroon mice” with a split level in “hungry hungry hippo.” / Or not. / Real paints have names like crimson alizarin, burnt umber, spectrum yellow, French ultramarine, titanium white and cobalt blue. Somehow more real they elicit possibility like a blank white canvas or a snow-white untouched high cotton yield watercolour sheet. Like a beach without footprints or a wide green field of soft grass. At the same time they threaten to overwhelm me with their original unsullied beauty. / So, anyhoo, I sit here, naked in the cold because I choose to be, because I don’t care. I do believe, I do, that we are brilliant and unique, random, an act of somewhere silent, sliding through the world on the diamond flaws that everyone tries so hard to believe. Arbitrary, indiscriminately created, hacked open and carved from the world. / I have been remiss but that does not indicate that I have not been paying attention. / The distress abates by degrees, and by degree it returns and haunts and hurts. This is how it has always been. / I have even been up of late, yes directly up not even dysphoric. Can feel my fingers and toes tingle all day for no reason in slow waves of pleasure, hold them before my face, bend at the hip to pick lavender and put it in my pocket. Stretch strong and beautiful in the morning sun. / Just the tantalizing threads of it in my blood making me bite my cheeks and begin, once more, to push the worlds of my mind onto paper, to hold their drifting and stinging forms. / And it surges and falls like the sea, beats like wind against glass in my head. It has been a few days since I felt the irrational pleasure throb through my limbs. But ah, yes ah YES I know it will be back and soon and I will whisper to it and brush its feathers and ask it to stay stay stay. / I have been being very careful. I have not worked to the extent that I know I can, that I am pushed to and pressured in the back of my mind. I have even held back from the truth of my desires and have been making works that are gentle and lyrical. Before the storm. I have rational rationale that I must follow before I get all carried away and covered in paint inside and out. I do feel in a kind of limbo. I don’t know if this is happiness or not. I am lonely and dissatisfaction nests in my mind. Of course, of course. But limbo is better than purgatory and purgatory is better than hell. Often I feel… vague and unreal. / I stare so keenly at the moments days weeks without knowing that I am actually mad – this time, it does not possess the defining edge of reality that the very distortion and pain brings. How odd. Ridiculous. / ABSURD. And while I have this stillness, this ineptitude for subsistence there is always the star monster, world eater, inside me. It is inside us all, somewhere, elsewhere, else-when, telling us, calling to us in the night… / Don’t ever stop asking don’t ever ever stop reaching the answer to the question what is the meaning of life is the question what is the meaning of life. 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 (the cat is dead, long live the 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.” Ah my friends, my loving mad friends. I do so hope we all survive. / Spin through the random sky… faithless, of course. Faith in what? Paul
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Disarray… I try to refer to it every time I can ORDO AB CHAO (order out of chaos). hell better the other way round. / I did this piece while I was working at the Babylon Hotel. When I say working, I mean painting. I had a deal where I would paint in public at the pub and get free coffee and exhibition space in return. Pretty sweet really. I got to be friends with a lot of the waitresses there, so when I was placing the figure in the foreground I based it on one of them – she was wearing a Cardigan and had a bag with her. She was running late and flustered. / / / / I like the idea of the figures in my landscapes being deeply self-involved despite the dramatic and unusual things happening around them and this is a good example. She is looking at her watch in the midst of a desert in the face of an incoming maelstrom. To her the fact that she is late for work or whatever else it implies is far more important than where she is or what is happening. Also there is that I am kind of obsessed with time (the whole Einsteinian relativity thing and spooky quantum theory throws our understanding of the world into disarray) so I try to refer to it every time I can. This is probably my favourite of all my landscapes – just for the colour. I sold it in 2003 through the perth Royal show exhibition. /
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Queensland Railways – 4-8-2 + 2-8-4 Beyer-Garratt 1009 / . / Artwork Size: 16×27 cm (6” x 11”) / Artwork Media: Painting, Airbrushed ink & Acrylic / Artist / illustrator: Peter Nowak (aka “Wizard” – Wizard Graphics) / Owner: Artist / . / Available as Limited Edition Numbered Prints ONLY / 300 framed prints in each size (Actual size, 1.5 x and 2.0 x actual size). / or Small, Medium and Large. Artwork scanned at 1200dpi, provided as hi-res 600dpi file for printing up to 61cm. / . / Detail from Beyer-Garratt 1009 illustration / (shown almost twice actual size) / . / If you would like to order Limited Edition Prints or Commission a Steam Train, Railway, Railroad or related artwork / illustration, please visit my Locomotive Art web site for full details.
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FLOWER THAT REMINDS ME OF AN OLD GRAMOPHONE
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