Repression
40 creative works found
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Charasmatic Christian Community Life
by Chris JaegerEverything has its place and the telephone’s is just inside the front door, on its own Tasmanian-Oak side table. A white doily with tin…
Everything has its place and the telephone’s is just inside the front door, on its own Tasmanian-Oak side table. A white doily with tiny embroidered flowers, a Christmas gift from one of the congregation, ensures that the wood remains in pristine condition. Roland, like any self righteous man in his place would do, insists on inventing a use for every gift that finds it’s way into his outstretched palms. So every surface of his…their house… bears the personal touch of a closet disenchanted housewife whose mother taught them a thing or two about needlework. / “You’re right there it’s been a fairly quiet week.” I agree, hastily restoring my end of the conversation with the most general comment imaginable. / “Of course it has, Roland loves nothing more than good conversation…except your good self of course!” Sally laughs, curling the phone cord around her wrist. / “Naturally…we took the vows he steadfastly believes in.” / “You did indeed…and you’re all the better for it.” / “Sometimes…I’m not sure…I catch myself wondering, well, where would I be without him?” / “A dark place hon, shadows everywhere…he really pulled you out of it didn’t he?” / “Yeah I spose he did…that’s the latest in back-fence talk been bandied about anyway.” / “Come on hon I know the feeling of such a big community can be a little daunting, especially for a younger woman like yourself, but be grateful for it: at least you know everyone really cares about you.” / “There’s always that angle.” / “There is indeed! So just try and focus in on that, and any ‘negativity’ you’re feeling will dissipate, I promise! We’re all here to help you hon, me especially, so the sooner you start believing that, the better!” / “I know…you’ve been a great help, you all have…” / “And we’re going to continue to be hon, every step of the way and that includes coffee at 11 tomorrow.” / “Looking forward to it,” I assure her, then replace the receiver in it’s cradle before the closest thing I have to companionship can think of anything else to proclaim and promise. / / / More than ample provisions were made for his materialisation. A makeshift stage was assembled on the patchwork lawn. In the centre was a chipped lectern, whose very existence the Caringbah Bible Chapel were forced to deny after it’s sprawled legs claimed a third victim, this time a visiting evangelist who, before appointing Jesus as his true Lord and Saviour, tore after ambulances and trawled hospitals for expiring accident victims and their families. If it wasn’t for the bonfire in his throat, Roland Walker would have had something worthwhile and weighted to say at his daughter Catherine’s farewell dinner. But, as Jeremiah 30:17 so perfectly spells out; “I will restore health unto thee, and I will heal thee of thy wounds, saith the Lord.” Roland took immeasurable comfort from this passage; if it was God’s will that his chronic laryngitis should depart, then it indeed would. He sipped honey-lemon tea, took warm showers as required and even went as far as to swallow two ibuprofen tablets in addition to the recommended dosage of aspirin. Yet, in spite of these determined efforts, God had chosen for Roland not to speak and as unfair as this seemed at the time, he knew not to trouble the Messiah with so much as a raised eyebrow. / Even when Roland is detained beneath a duck feather eiderdown and a mountain of pillows, crocheted blankets and wilting flowers, I can’t break the habit of knocking on our bedroom door. I stand outside, running my bare feet nervously across the mohair carpet until I realise that permission to enter wont be granted anytime soon, given his absent voice. / Propped up in our vast bed by two royal blue banana pillows, his eyes abandon the leather bound King James and follow me across the room. / “When you’re ready.” I offer, setting the Tupperware container on his bedside table. / A motion of his head grants me sanction and I ease the Bible from his hairless hands and rest it at the foot of the bed. / “Sally suggested this remedy when I was over at her place for coffee this morning” I explained, motioning to the container on the table. / His eyes light up at the mention of one of the most cherished and trusted members of his congregation. I know now that whatever remedy I’m offering, he will take without a moment’s hesitation. / “All you’ve got to do is inhale the steam. I spose it soothes or something I’m not sure, she didn’t say…I’ll hold the bowl for you.” I offer, prying the lid off the container of boiling water. / He takes bottomless, down-reaching breaths as I steady the container beneath his stubbled chin. The urge to tip it all down the front of his blue flannelette pyjama top creeps in through an ever stretching hole. The container trembles a little as I force this vision back into the rain soaked trenches of my perception. / “…I…I hope…I really hope it’s working ok…” I manage, a reemergence of sorts. / He shrugs his shoulders, motioning for the bowl to be removed from his sight. / “I guess only time will tell” I answer helplessly, setting the container just outside the door then returning to plant the Bible back in his outstretched hands. / “Your congregation they…they miss you… guess you figured that with all the gifts…the fill-in pastor isn’t fit to sew the hem of your garment, they all agree…well I’ll…I’ll let you get some rest anyway, sooner you recover the better really…” I ramble as I collect his washing and head towards the door. / A smile edges it’s way to his thin lips as I pull it closed; he must be turning my ramblings over in his head, letting the fact that he is sorely missed at church hand feed his ego. / There are only so many times you can squeegee piss stains off the bathroom floor before your mind turns to batter. Roland takes great care in every function of his life, and judging by this and the lack of crusted droplets on our en-suite floor, the three shake rule applies when he’s pissing. The same can’t be said for Jessica Barton’s husband George or her three sons. / As part of the ‘Live the Gospel and Get to Know Your Neighbour’ campaign, developed by Sally and approved by Roland with a flourish of his Parker Pen, I am doing chores for the Barton’s this week. Sally sits at the breakfast bar in their newly renovated kitchen, sipping a cup of percolated coffee and offering shouts of encouragement. / “Hon, come out here a minute, I’d say you’re nearly done anyway.” / Rinsing the squeegee in the Barton’s oversized shower and leaving it there to dry, I come out to the kitchen. / “How’s it going?” Sally asks enthusiastically. / “Ah great now that’s done,” I return weakly. / “You’re right; it gives you a fantastic feeling inside when you help out your fellow man,” Sally asserts, reassured and oddly satisfied. / With her hair is up in a tight bun that contorts her usually delicate features, she appears more authoritative and less of a companion today. / “I’ve been emailing Roland a fair bit while he’s been unwell, to give him a bit of an outlet and obviously keep the lines of communication open, he is the Pastor after all…” Sally began, her hands dancing on the Formica bench top as she spoke. / “Anyway, what I’m saying is, what we both are saying is…it’s been nearly five months since you and Roland married. I can understand you wanting to find your feet in this community and so on: but we’re getting a little impatient now hon, the whole congregation is…” / Her words all melt into one, like butter when you leave the fry pan on, and I rock the kitchen chair on and off my foot in bid to stay alert. / “You know, it’s been great getting to know you hon, it really has, both before you and Roland married and since…but did you ever think that I was doing it for a reason?” She asks, her rust coloured eyes rifling through me for an answer. / I tilt the chair back and bring it back down again, half intending it to topple onto the cream tiles below, sending me sprawling and distracting Sally from the question that lay in wait. / “Well, ah no…not really…I left all my old friends behind when I moved here and started dating Roland…I just thought that we were similar people in some ways and maybe you saw that …” / “Yes yes you’re partially right but there’s more to it…I know Roland hasn’t told you anything at all about loosing his first wife, Marilyn, and I’m not going to, that’s up to him. But let me just say this; it just about destroyed him hon. So many changes, we barely knew him anymore, but we stuck close by him, hanging out for something to happen, for the Lord to intervene: and that’s when he met and married you. I can’t tell you how good it was to see the old Roland again, and it still is but…” / “But what…” I ask, captivated and repelled by the sight of my husband’s grief unearthed. / “But you’re not fully involved in church life hon: there’s whole lot of hesitation to you that no one, least of all Roland, would’ve picked.” / “I know it’s just that…” I begin, overcome with a bizarre sense of emotional responsibility. / “Look, enough with the ‘it’s just that’ excuse, ok hon? I’ve tried to be sympathetic but we’re not asking for much. Listen, Dan’s taking the kids up to see his mother this weekend, so I’ve got the house free. Why don’t you come over, stay the weekend if you like and I’ll show you what it really means to accept Jesus into your heart!” / Sally’s face shines with conviction as she finishes her sentence and a fleck of spittle flies from her mouth and lands on my arm, a Baptism of sorts.
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Click below to view a set NATURE / LANDSCAPES / PEOPLE / PORTRAITS / SPORTS / SUNSETS / TRAVEL / ARTISTIC WORK / BOUDOIR / OTHER To view more work by this artist, please visit – Kara Rountree Photography I have been working as a Sacramento area professional photographer offering a variety of services to meet the needs of businesses, entertainment professionals, / and individuals. My services include: business photography, model and actor portfolios and headshots, high school senior and boudoir portraiture.
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Tracing waves already made.
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red like blood, passion, repression
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Freeform tarps offer a sharp, colorful contrast to sharp angles of linear engineering.
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Silence and a Silk Cloth
by loloweThere’s a lot of my past that I can’t remember, a lot that has been erased from memory, I suppose as a way to keep the pain out. But ther…
There’s a lot of my past that I can’t remember, a lot that has been erased from memory, I suppose as a way to keep the pain out. But there are things I do remember, many of those things, I never had the courage to speak about before and I probably never will. I imagine those scratched out parts of my life, as being covered with a silk cloth. Something soft and beautiful that can never hurt me, and that is merciful enough to never fray. But I wanted to write about one thing in particular, I guess because this is my act of catharsis and because sometimes, words just begged to be let out. Being the way that I am, I can only oblige.
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On the 12th June, Briain’s Shadow Home Secretary blasted the government and its controversial ‘42 Days’ law – the right to detain without charge people suspected of terrorism, a law which was by many accounts “bullied” through parliament by the British Prime Minister Gordon Brown. Now I have no better solution for what to do in these uncertain times, but I utterly applaud Davis’ convictions in resigning from his position, and forcing a by-election in his electorate. The words of his speech are inspirational, and not wholly transferred onto this shirt. Highlights: This Sunday is the anniversary of Magna Carta, a document that guarantees the fundamental element of British freedom, habeas corpus. The right not to be imprisoned by the state without charge or reason. But yesterday this house allowed the state to lock up potentially innocent citizens for up to six weeks without charge. Because the generic security arguments relied on will never go away – technology, developing complexity and so on – we will next see 56 days, now it’s 70 days, 90 days. 42 days is just one, perhaps the most salient example, of the insidious, surreptitious and relentless erosion of fundamental British freedoms. We will have, shortly, the most intrusive identity card system in the world, a CCTV camera for every 14 citizens, a DNA database bigger than any dictator should have with thousands of innocent children and millions of innocent citizens on it. consider one of the most fundamental issues of our day: the ever intrusive power of the state into our lives, the loss of privacy, the loss of freedom and the steady attrition undermining the rule of law.
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Repression keeps anxiety arousing impulses, feelings, and memories locked away in the unconscious depths of the mind. Are they bound away out of fear, or for healing?
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Pop Art is a visual art movement that emerged in the mid 1950s in Britain and in parallel in the late 1950s in the United States. Pop Art challenged tradition by asserting that an artist’s use of the mass produced visual commodities of popular culture is contiguous with the perspective of Fine Art since Pop removes the material from its context and isolates the object, or combines it with other objects, for contemplation. The concept of Pop Art refers not as much to the art itself as to the attitudes that led to it.
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a lot of people on my television dont want to mention either the R word or the D word,so let me explain it for you.
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well enough of the pretty pretty pictures for a while and back to pure power of black and white…. I’m going to be uploading some old analouge b/w’s over the next couple of weeks leading up to a possibly interesting outing re me on an ABC arts programme that is going to be broadcast soonish….. I love black and white…. strip away the distraction of colour and what’s left is form and story…... this image called ‘repression’ is the first in a small series of works called…..”is there anybody there?”......taken a very long time ago in a distant galaxy that I once inhabited….. . / . / . /
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well I like tee shirts and I like photographs…. what else can I say…...
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rage
by Juilee Pryorthe second of my small series of black and white shots from a body of work called “is there anybody there?”. the first one is called repression and you can just follow the link to look at that one….. and the last one is called redrum . / . / .
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this last in this mini series of black and white images from a body of work called “is anybody there?”...... the first is repression and the second is rage they combined tell a dark and depressing story of love gone wrong in a small town a long time a go…... / . / . / . /
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I dont really know what to call this. Is it a Fractal Manipulation because the background is a fractal? Or is it a photomanipulation with a fractal ‘thrown in’ ?? whatever… arent we masters of diguise? masters of self-discipline? dont we have them under control?? our emotions .. our feelings.. our SELVES ? yes then don’t be surprised if they come and haunt you at night….. those repressed feelings, emotions, thoughts…...... thanks for stock goes to / lockstock / Peace-of-Art / Mizzd-Stock
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This is my vision of The House of Bernarda Alba (La Casa de Bernarda Alba by Federico García Lorca. / For those that are not very familiar with this artist and/or this play, here´s a brief. Federico García Lorca was a Spanish poet and dramatist , also known by his skills in many other arts. He is considered the poet of greater influence and popularity of the Spanish Literature of the XXth century. He died executed by Nationalist partisans at the age of 38 at the beginning of the Spanish Civil War, due to his affinity to the Popular Front _and for being openly homosexual. / He´s not only Spain’s most universal poet, but he is also a universally recognised symbol of Spain – and especially Andalucia – itself. His poems paint a vivid and intrinsically poetic portrait of this fascinating region, with its stark landscapes, its moonlit nights, its bullfighters and, above all, its gypsies with their free-roaming ways and fierce codes of living and loving. / Lorca was also a man of the theatre and roamed Spain in a truck with a troupe of actors called “La Barraca”, staging farces and tragedies in village squares of Andalucia. He created many enemies with his trilogy of plays dwelling on the plight of women in Andalucía’s villages – “Blood Wedding”, “Barren (Yerma)” and “The House of Bernarda Alba” . / “The House of Bernarda Alba” was Lorca’s last play; it was written in 1936, several months before his execution. The play centers on the events of an Andalusian house during a period of mourning, in which the title character (age 60) wields total control over her five daughters Angustias (39 years old), Magdalena (30), Amelia (27), Martirio, (24), and Adela (20). / The play explores themes of repression, passion, and conformity, and inspects the effects of men upon women. Main figure is a cinema4D render; then I blended some layers in order to… Well, just look carefully, try view larger. If you want to read the original play in English go here: / House of Bernarda Alba. Here are other images for this series; if you want to know more about the play that inspired these works, please, follow the links. / 2) Martirio / / 3) Angustias / / 4) Magdalena y Amelia Thanks for sharing this tribute to Federico García Lorca.
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Adela, the youngest daughter, went to the stable in order to meet Pepe again. / But Martirio has seen her and calls her mother to witness. Pepe is waiting with his horse to run away with Adela. Bernarda calls for the gun and rushes to try to shoot him, but he manages to escape. / Martirio suggests that he is now dead, and Adela locks herself in her room. Bernarda thinks this is all for the best. / But then a sound is heard; Bernarda, Martirio and the maid break down the door. Adela has killed herself. Bernarda’s order on the matter, as the final curtain comes down, is that it is to be made known that the youngest daughter of Bernarda Alba died a virgin. Wel, this should be the last image from this series dedicated to Lorca´s “House Of Bernarda Alba”. Most probably I´d still upload 2 or 3 more images related to this play, but later, some other time; now, I have to move on. I want to thank to all those that accompanied me throughout the creation process of this series with comments, suggestions and constructive critics. This is an original cinema4D render; just did a bit of postproduction in order to separate color tones. Remember, if you wish to read this play in English, click here: / House Of Bernarda Alba Here are the previous images for this series; / Want to know more about the play that inspired these works? Please, follow the links. / / 1) House Of Bernarda Alba / / 2) Martirio / / 3) Angustias / / 4) Magdalena y Amelia / / 5) Adela
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Sterling2 with post work in PSP. Elton John – Goodbye Yellow Brick Road / I liked this video, love The Muppets! :o) But the lyrics to this bring to mind Helen Bascom’s post this morning titled ‘Death Machine’ When are you gonna come down / When are you going to land / I should have stayed on the farm / I should have listened to my old man You know you can’t hold me forever / I didn’t sign up with you / I’m not a present for your friends to open / This boy’s too young to be singing the blues So goodbye yellow brick road / Where the dogs of society howl / You can’t plant me in your penthouse / I’m going back to my plough Back to the howling old owl in the woods / Hunting the horny back toad / Oh I’ve finally decided my future lies / Beyond the yellow brick road What do you think you’ll do then / I bet that’ll shoot down your plane / It’ll take you a couple of vodka and tonics / To set you on your feet again Maybe you’ll get a replacement / There’s plenty like me to be found / Mongrels who ain’t got a penny / Sniffing for tidbits like you on the ground
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LDS temple…. a symbol of what is keeping salt lake city… still stuck in their cult like beliefs
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