Noise Wall Art
295 creative works found
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Shot at the trainstation in Aarhus, Denmark in January – a train was leaving the station, and as I walked up along the carts, I noticed this guy sitting there. I moved a couple of carts ahead, put the viewfinder to my eye, waited for him to get in the picture – and snap.
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An untouched close up(with exposure)of a submerged brige when a few beaver’s dams just collaps a couple of nights ago.I couldn’t drink or even used the water in my house for 2 days.We were not able to go out of our area for a day.It happenned at night and we could hear the raging fload so loud,it was amazing.The firemen were at the bridge watching when I took that close-up.This image is the result of the destroyed bridge,half of it just went along with the water,a very impressive scene to see and to hear because of the dead trees and rocs rolling over the road.The little touches of colors you see are the reflection comming from the lights of the firemen’s truck.I didn’t know if I would have enough light,in fact I didn’t have any idea about the result.I thought about using exposure for the creamy texture….I just remember that my boyfriend kept asking me,how much time you still need,5 or 10 min. and I answered 15 …. :)) He wanted to go to sleep,it was 1 o’clock in the morning. / /
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Enjoy! _
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The only photo of mine that i´ve had framed and hung on my own wall….if you don´t count the ones of my son of course. :-) Thanks for looking. Have a great day! :-) / Andreas Stridsberg © / www.mystic-pic.com
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The main streets of Cairo become a hive of activity in anticipation for the celebrations at the end of Ramadan.
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Watch the Video HERE When this began / I had nothing to say / And I get lost in the nothingness inside of me / I was confused / and I let it all out to find / That I’m not the only person with these things in mind / Inside of me / but all the vacancy the words revealed / Is the only real thing that I’ve got left to feel / Nothing to lose, / just stuck hollow and alone / And the fault is my own and the fault is my own I wanna heal, I wanna feel what I thought was never real / I wanna let go of the pain I’ve held so long / Erase all the pain till it’s gone / I wanna heal, I wanna feel like I’m close to something real / I wanna find something I’ve wanted all along / Somewhere I belong And I’ve got nothing to say / I can’t believe I didn’t fall right down on my face / I was confused, / looking everywhere only to find / That it’s not the way I had imagined it all in my mind / So what am I, / what do I have but negativity / Cause I can’t justify the way everyone is looking at me / Nothing to lose, / nothing to gain, hollow and alone / And the fault is my own and the fault is my own I wanna heal, I wanna feel what I thought was never real / I wanna let go of the pain I’ve held so long / Erase all the pain till it’s gone / I wanna heal, I wanna feel like I’m close to something real / I wanna find something I’ve wanted all along / Somewhere I belong I will never know myself until I do this on my own / And I will never feel anything else until my wounds are healed / I will never be anything till I break away from me / I will break away, I’ll find myself today I wanna heal, I wanna feel what I thought was never real / I wanna let go of the pain I’ve held so long / Erase all the pain till it’s gone / I wanna heal, I wanna feel like I’m close to something real / I wanna find something I’ve wanted all along / Somewhere I belong I wanna heal, I wanna feel like I´m / Somewhere I belong / I wanna heal, I wanna feel like I´m / Somewhere I belong / Somewhere I belong Linkin Park
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Hope u like it!! Enjoy! _
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/ / / Here are My Ears Tshirt Here are my Ears – White NOise a pen illustration on brown paper over streaks of white gesso / with the addition of wire mesh on her little white tee / and a bit of fun in Photoshop
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/ trying out some new techniques…..
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Camera – Canon 350D / Lens – 24-85mm USM / Focal length – 85mm / Exposure – Aperture Priority / Aperture – f/8 / Shutter – 1/320 seconds / ISO – 100 Photoshop attempt at a lomo type effect, halftone pattern to create horizotal lines and noise added. / / © Andrew Brown / / Cards / Urban and Architecture / Panorama / Landscape / Portraiture / Macro
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War Between The Worlds The noise, the deafening noise. / A battle rages to my north. / Armies of ships fall to my side, / weighing on my heart for those inside. / The metal torn and burned, the sound / of electricity courses through my veins. / Waves of terror surround me, while those / untouched and safe know nothing. / The coming of time, sets the pace for a new era. / Like beasts of armour they wheel fate, / determination to break through the barriers / that separate them from us. / The trumpets wail, and wings fall. / The masters reproach treads near. / The bow breaks and the floodgates of peril, / wash over us, drowning the luminating heat of despair / The finale draws near as I’m blinded by glorious light, stars fall from their designation, / The universe goes silent, the darkness, the nothingness, my mind slows, I fall….. Lisa C. Weber ©2008 / (Created with Bryce 6.1) / Visit My Complete Redbubble for all My 3D Artwork & Products
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Quote by Archimedes. The two love of my live :) / My lil girl is dancing with daddy…..this one really melts my heart, as im sure all other mummies out there can relate ;-) Looks awesome as framed print or canvas with the texture and added grain :)
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A clear night at the Capricorn Roadhouse, near Newman WA
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Our Cat having a Snooz, couldnt help taking a pic
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Watch the Video here He’s a stranger to some / And a vision to none / He can never get enough / Get enough of the world. For a fortune he’d quit / But it’s hard to admit / How it ends and begins. On his face is a map of the world / (A map of the world) / On his face is a map of the world / (A map of the world). From yesterday, it’s coming / From yesterday, the fear / From yesterday, it calls him / But he doesn’t want to read the message here. On a mountain he sits / Not of gold but of shit / Through the blood he can learn / See the lives that he took. From the council of one / He’ll decide when he’s done with the innocent. On his face is a map of the world / (A map of the world) / On his face is a map of the world / (A map of the world). From yesterday, it’s coming / From yesterday, the fear / From yesterday, it calls him. But he doesn’t want to read the message / He doesn’t want to read the message / He doesn’t want to read the message here. On his face is a map of the world. From yesterday, it’s coming / From yesterday, the fear / From yesterday, it calls him / But he doesn’t want to read the message here. From yesterday, from yesterday / From yesterday, the fear / From yesterday, from yesterday / But he doesn’t want to read the message / He doesn’t want to read the message / He doesn’t want to read the message here 30 Seconds To Mars
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Watercolours on paper. New as of 27th of november. / 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 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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Digitally manipulated drawing + photographs / Photoshop CS2, digital photographs, coloured pencils / 2007
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