Master
8 members found (show all)
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Challenge Master
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Peter Masters
Australia
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Alison Masters
Australia
1661 creative works found
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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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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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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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The Master that is Bruce Lee
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watercolours… / 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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a small difference
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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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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 It will also be om display at the / RedBubble @ The Rialto Towers *Maximum Exposure Thank you all who voted*
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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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6665 Views, 242 Comments and 119 Favouritings Featured Image RB BEST VIEWED LARGER No Filters, No Colour Enhancement, Just a Magic Moment and the wonders of HDR photography and wonderful sunset , great light and clouds . This is pure HDR generated from 5 bracketted images This shot was taken at Newport Wharf which is located on the shores of Pittwater north of Sydney. Easily accessable by car or public transport. Its the kind of place where you can wind down at the end of the day with a cold beer or a glass of Australian Chardonnay and watch the sun set in the west.. This is my neighbourhood about 5 minutes from my home, “Just a Little Touch of Paradise.” we get some great sunsets in winter. / ! / So if youre visiting Sydney areas like this are within 40 klms of the city Equipment: Nikon D300, Nikkor 18-200 mm lens , handheld / Technique: HDR 5 Exposures, Bracketted, Photomatix Framed Print / / Please Also See the sister print to this image “Fire In The Sky – Newport”
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An Alf Caruana inspired image / Thankyou Alf for your ongoing inspiration and support of my work. xxx Another wonderful day shooting with my photography partner Mary Broome.
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Milk & Cookies for Santa
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For the next month (from May 27th onwards) I’m asking people not to leave a comment on my work here. Rather, if you would like to support the work that I do please either leave a comment or upload an image here I can live without comments but homophobia needs your voices Many thanks / Robert I was doing a photo shoot for another project, but this happened… An old derelict church building in Glebe – inner west Sydney
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The mist around the trees was so beautiful yesterday morning, and everything felt so peaceful, I couldn’t resist a couple of textures and overlays to help create the feeling. Original photograph with grunge texture overlay, colour and levels adjustments. Featured in Red Bubble Home Page, April 2009
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I recently got an intuos tablet. / This is the first “real” thing I’ve created while using it. / Other then this I’ve just been scribbling and trying to get used to using it. / I’m pretty excited about it!
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I remember when i was painting this, i wanted a thick oil look to it, just like the work of the old masters thick and creamy look, it was a painting i loved doing and im happy with the outcome , i feel i can touch this digital oil stroke…...i want to do more like this if i can lol corel painter using artists oil brushes on artists canvas…no textures or filters used.. just paint…. FEATURED IN THE GROUP “LIVE LOVE DREAM” 29/06/09 THANK U FEATURED IN THE GROUP “DIGITAL ARTISTS UNITED” 4/07/09 THANK U FEATURED IN THE GROUP “DIGITAL BRUSHSTROKES” 3/07/09 THANK U
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Original Creation Date: October 24th, 2007 / Charcoal on 90 lb. paper, freehand, 14” x 20” Original available for purchase. Note me for pricing.
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Simple one this time, but that’s all I wanted :) just like a yin yang itself, but with my own twist on it hehe I’d wear it :D Oh and if you would like the design in a different colour, red on black, or in black to put on a light tee etc, just ask =] All feedback and suggestions welcome, if anyone would like something added or altered which would make you happy in order to purchase this item don’t hesitate to ask, I’ll consider reasonable changes to keep any potential buyers happy Jay / R-evolution GFX Other designs you may like from R-evolutionGFX: —-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-- Oh and: / SPECIAL BIG DI$COUNT OFFER ON MY “Have a nice day” SHIRT! / Click here to Contact me for details / Jay. /
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