Melancholy
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740 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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A picture I took while in a dream.
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This is the second time I have written this…think my first file was too big…anyway…this is a picture of my beautiful daughter Lauren. Lauren has had a hard life having been disabled in a car accident as a child but despite this she has achieved much including being a fashion model. Her face appeared in mags during the 90’s and culminated with her being the face of the Australian Couture Collection in the late 90’s. This particular photo was taken on a cold wintry day…the raindrops added to the mood of the photo…Lauren is today a writer, hoping to get a book of poetry published. comments welcome…Cheers, Geri
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From the series A sotto voce
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1 photo from a series taken for melancholy – language of light assignment.
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this photo has been added to the “Night Photography” theme at www.jpgmag.com in the hope of getting my picture published. so if anyone else has an account with these guys i would very much appreciate it if you could vote for me and ill return the favor… i will always be with you This image is also now up for submission at DIGITAL CAMERA MAG so please help me get this photo published and vote!! thanks you everyone. As another member from redbubble has writen a poem inspired by this photo ive included a link so you guys can read it / ive read the poem and think its amazing thanks for choosing my image UBUIBME86 thanks for looking people!* 13.0 sec at f / 16 / 22mm focal length / ISO 100 / no flash / street lighting – tungsten / canon eos 20d /
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Mixed Medium on canvas… approx A3 in size. Hi everyone, I did this, this afternoon, it took me an hour, exploring with mixed medium. Inspired by Billylee and her print making… so incorporated some printing, water colour, collage and inks… Probably something I should varnish… but if it’s framed behind glass not sure if I’ll risk it. Have no idea what it should be titled so maybe you can help me … I have been part of RB since mid October and never had a work on the featured pages… could this be it? Looking forward to your comments and feedback, I know it’s not my usual style, but / hopefully someone out there likes it!
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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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This creation has been inspired by the Traditional Irish Song : Skibbereen. I focused here on the old and happy times while they where living in Skibbereen, in Dear Ireland. / It’s like an instant shot of the father’s memory, when he was happy, he remembers the good days when his wife was alive. / We all have photographies of people we love. That’s what i wanted to show here, a positive touch while the song is so sad! . Yet sold 1 poster and 1 card of this creation. My gallery is Copyright © Wandering Soul. All rights reserved. / All the materials contained in my gallery may not be reproduced, copied, edited, published, transmitted or uploaded in any way without my written permission. My images do not belong to the public domain. / Please read the Etiquette Policy and respect it! / Modifying, tubing, cropping, using it for letters or stationeries, layouts, backgrounds, stock, copyrighting, stealing my work is not only against the law but unethical. / Altaring or using without express written permission is stealing. View More ART here!
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Masquerade Art Print / Available as a framed art print, poster, card and laminated print. / Masquerade is part of the Permanent Feature Showcase Are we really happy with this lonely game we play / Searching but not finding understanding any way / We’re lost in this Masquerade. Both afraid to say we’re just too far away / From being close together from the start / We tried to talk it over but the words got in the way / We’re lost inside this lonely game we play. Thoughts of leaving disappear everytime I see your eyes / No matter how hard I try / To understand the reason that we carry on this way / We’re lost in this Masquerade. / Words & Music by Leon Russell Image copyright © 2008, Shanina Conway. / Reproduction, displaying or redistribution of this image without permission from the artist is strictly prohibited
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View All Art » / Page 1 Page 2 Page 3 Page 4 Page 5 Page 6 / / My Red Melancholy is a self-portrait taken from photographic artist Jaeda DeWalt’s, The Red Realm series and is a part of the DeWalt Gallery collection. Self-portrait shot using a digital camera and remote control. Hair, styling and make-up also done by Jaeda DeWalt / —-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—- / Available for sale as Laminated Prints, Matted Prints, Mounted Prints, Posters, Canvas Prints and Framed Prints / / Image featured in Models with a difference group 7-19-2009 / —-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—- / This image is featured in Jaeda’s The Red Realm calendar / / / / visit the rest of this series . . . View All Art » / Page 1 Page 2 Page 3 Page 4 Page 5 Page 6 / —-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—- / My Red Melancholy Under the bright lights / And pristine haze / I look away As sick secrets sinuously sleep / Underneath a surface that is / Poised and pretty and sweet My raven hair scented / With traumatic experiences / Buried alive . . . refusing to die My crimson lips / Whisper / Of a quiet desperation My eyes refusing to shed / The tears of . . . / My Red Melancholy © Jaeda DeWalt listen to Jaeda recite My Red Melancholy / —-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—- / browse Jaeda’s photographic art by category: / dreamscapes, artistic nudes, couples, glamour, erotica, conceptual, sensual, portrait, spiritual, survivor art / /
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Don’t we all…. / / / / / / / /
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Model/MUA/Concept/Styling etc. – Atrophy Gloria Swanson is alive and well and living in Melbourne, it seems. Canon 40D + 50mm 1.4 + overcast daylight = Silver Screen Fun. Copyright 2008 Harmony Nicholas
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Acrylic and mixed media on canvas / November 2008 / Original SOLD Inspired by Elliott Smith Listen here: / Pitseleh / or / http://au.youtube.com/watch?v=kDMeEtUCq54 I’ll tell you why I don’t want to know where you are / I got a joke I’ve been dying to tell you / The silent kid is looking down the barrel / To make the noise that I kept so quiet / I kept it from you, pitseleh I’m not what’s missing from your life now / I could never be the puzzle pieces / They say that god makes problems just to see what you can stand / Before you do as the devil pleases give up the thing you love no one deserves it The first time I saw you, I knew it would never last / I’m not half what I wish I was / I’m so angry, / I don’t think it’ll ever pass / And I was bad news for you, / just because I never meant to hurt you
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/ “The Sentinels” is part of the Winter Collection... we barricade our doors and guard our lives every day, but storms come and go regardless of locks…so we pray for the sun, and cry relief relief!! Watercolour on Fabriano Artistico Hot Pressed Paper.. / Home Page Feature Natures Wonders, Everything Winter features, plus five more…... They stand as sentinels against azure storms / Assured as most storms of life, it’s supposed / Although bared of dress, although naked as jays, / Winter’s trees umbrella from worst those / Emptied of warmth.. why stand themselves here? / None rest beneath, cold is this grayness / Determined, enduring Hail’s hiss, they stay / Limbs upturned, beg the sun from her shyness… / These brown-barked sentinels recall blue-green days before / With soft nests of down in lofty leaved reaches / Where bodies under there sparkled in prisms / When leaf-scattered-light danced on now barren benches.. / They stand as sentinels against azure storms ...Barbara Attaway / /
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www.cathleentarawhiti.co.nz Model - Luna / To see more of Luna, you are most welcome to visit my Facebook page Gown supplied by - / Mystique Costume Hire / 233 Anglesea St / Hamilton / ph 07 83 83 505 Featured in Canon DSLR / Thank you Featured in Out of the Blue / Thanks Stephanie. Featured in Everyday Women / Thanks Shannon. Featured in Canon Vs Nikon / Thank you. 1000+ views People/Portraiture Pin-ups The Date Series HDR Photography Macro Photography Architecture Collaborations Skyscapes Animals/Birds/Insects Street Photography Everyday Objects Seascapes/Rivers/All Water Summer Photography Odd/Unusual Flowers/Plants/Trees Landscapes New Zealand Abstract Humour Black and White Photography Canon 40D
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©Aimee Stewart, Foxfires – please see my CC Terms of Use before considering using this image for any personal or commercial: Foxfires Terms / (Please do not repost this on Photobucket or Flickr!) / —-—-—-—-——- Like a pearl dropped in red dark wine, / Your pale face sank within my heart, / Not to be mine, yet always mine. The cruel agonies, the poignant struggles, / the bitter tears have been replaced by a tender companion… / pale and gentle Melancholy —-—-—-—-——- Artist’s notes: What started out as a doodle to break through my Artist’s block, turned into this. Letting the mind wander, enjoying texture and color…. —-—-—-—-——- / Model: Chona Stock / Brushes: Greenaleydis-Stock / Obsidian Dawn Brushes
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portrait of a young beautiful woman with red hair and blue eyes
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A beautiful white pittbull dog, looking for a home at a dog shelter.
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