Nature urbanization
270 creative works found
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A list of all the other great artists that made it into Gaia is here / / / / Have a look at my other photos. For example: / / / / / / / / / / / / Or browse through one of my categories flower / poppy / water / leaf / other / reflection / macro / insect / dragonfly / damselfly
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“Give me a big Mother / One that will always want me / Hot, embracing Mother / I can crawl upon / and cling to…..” / Lyrics by the Sugarcubes Oil on canvas from a series of Mother Earth paintings and drawings / Original painting in private collection /
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Colour version found here Images from Australia / Architecture / Images from Japan / Sunsets / Water Scenes
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There is a type of quiet peaceful solitude that one can only experience in a park Oil on Stretched Canvas – No Airbrushing 36 X 56 inches / 92 X 143 cm Original : / Sold / contact my Agents at Gallery 112 / .......................................................................................
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Pencil to pen and ink drawing of many moments in my life.
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Can’t beat a good icon
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Adobe Photoshop (digital) manipulation of photographic imagery. FORGIVE ARCADIA You asked me to write something today / And all I could sense was a blank. / Something on fiction and truth, was what you needed – / But my truth is a brick wall / And buildings that should be shattered / Like crabs’ claws. / Still, this morning I woke up at five / And wondered what would happen / If the earth froze numb at that secret hour – / If I could lift my hand, and make the horizon still. / Then there’d be no one except me, / And the birds. As the moon went out I should / Dance and fly through emptied streets / Away from the city’s cramped horizon / To where the great clouds raced. / Within their wefts, or so I’d like to think, / A sugar veil of crystals / A flurry of icy motes, waiting to catch the sun, / For now still dark with night – / A gust of frozen sparks, perhaps, / Dormant, and charged with the power / Of undiscovered things: unformed, unknown. / And then, having been born again, / I’d creep back to bed, and the smell of cotton. Last night I met a girl, from far-off lands. / She was charming – Finnish, so she said, / And she smiled a numinous smile / On a clear face with peachy skin: / Slender, and lit with an inner glow, / Peaceful and seraphic, / As lucid in form as porcelain, / Or a pink sweetshop mouse. I want to meet her again. But I’d made her up, / In a dream it seems I’d had; all complete, / All fully formed, with a purpose, and a past / Of her own, although she’d never been alive. / And now she’s gone with the dew. / And now I miss her. She was, a think, a succubus of strange benevolence: / Beating inside, her eager heart / That galvanised my moment of epiphany, / And found a path to earth through sleeping limbs. / These ghosts of memory, haunting my waking hours: / Why do you give me time, why do you lend me / Your good aim? Phantasms that could not be, / Specious potentialities, all unborn / You night creatures, far removed / From what the daylight people do, or are; / Those sunshine ones, who own the clear air, / And spread themselves in it; whose clamour makes / A transient misfortune, then they’re gone… / Yet why must you, instead, / Tend me as if I were an orchid of the gloom – / Which, plainly, I am not? I tried to think what heaven might be like / For us, we creatures of blind purpose / Fumbling (as we do) at light. Oblivion would be / Much of it: forgetting for the hundredth time / What we had done before, and comatose with hope, / We should ourselves break free – like birds, or / A flutter of petals, simply because we could. / Nothing to fail us, nothing to expiate, nothing to / Disappoint. Above all, freedom from shame. / Blank-eyed, we’d cup our hands, and find them / Crammed with sweets. Infantilism would be the / Recommended option, that or promiscuity. / We’d flounce like butterflies, or nose our way / As small insectivores do, sniffing for flesh to nip / Without remorse. Inspiring our laborious intent: / The gaze of a cow, chewing on infinity. All animal / Kingdoms would be ours to claim, lacking only people. There’d be no art, no divine discontent: / No knowing laughter, and no more endeavour – / Only the yawning promenade / Of a world stripped of Self. Upon preened wings, / We’d soar through canyons bright as mirrors, / Where everything was fixed and known. Down / We’d dive: to perch, and later, stroll an eternal pleasure / Pier, bounded on each side by the extinction / Of individuals. Our jelly baby guards / (Blameless as halfwits, or as sociopaths) / Their looks too liquid to sustain reproach, / Would urge us safely home, and in a tract of flowers / We’d be immured, and there we’d stick: an endless, timeless / Moment wherein consciousness lay hanged. Paradise, although fortuitous, is where nothing goes unplanned. / It is predestination without fear, without account. / Meanwhile, with brains intact, you’ll promise to let me / Face the glare of what is commonplace. / And, in return, I’ll try to be more even-handed / In indifference. Stephen Jackson June 2002 / For Jan
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toronto, canada
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If history repeats itself, and the unexpected always happens, how incapable must Man be of learning from experience…..... Natural History Museum, London, England.
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I love how overgrown this main entrance to the stately home has become, with grass and moss completely taking over the steps and starting to take hold on the ornate stonework around the door.
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Acrylic painting of the house I grew up in and me. A self portrait I am the blonde but mind you I am a red head. I just always wanted to be a blonde… / Click on Image for “Giving the Bride Away” T-shirt…. /
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Pastel drawing from Anatomy Eyes Series.
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Pastel pen and ink drawing of a Snake in the Grass. Based on the Original Sin in the Garden of Eden from the Bible. Click on the “Snake in the Grass” Image to buy Print /
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Another experiment, just going outside of what I know and playing with some different ways of creating my works. Thanks for viewing.
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She is my friend.. / nowadays, she does not talk.. / but the way she is facing the sunset.. / the way she is touching her sweet chin.. / the way her artificial hair waves and gives shapes / her perfect skull. / the way you see.. / is giving me her back.. / just tells me.. that.. / once rejected by the dreamy lovers.. / she has found a the perfect one.. / And she is hidding from me.. / the breaking of lust of her mouth.. / the burning eyes.. explossion of dust.. / the long promised throne.. / that it wont come.. / for thrones are for queens.. / and she.. / is ajust a dream.. / of beauty.. / of happiness.. / of eternal life.. / I love her .. / because.. / she can´t.. / (Rosa Cobos) © Copyright Rosa Cobos 2008 . All rights reservved
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My main website will lead you to all my other online gallery’s and stores: / Arteology
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Love can blow your mind and leave you seeing stars but its always your heart that takes the weight.
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Collage Mixed Media.
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