Ritual
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ritual
Australia
177 creative works found
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The Monoliths in Carnac, France This photo was chosen for the front page of RedBubble’s featured page. Thanks for viewing!
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This is a piece I made over a year ago, when I first got a hold of Photoshop Elements. I just wanted to see what the software was capable of, so I drew a unicorn and some brambles and played around with some stock images to create this piece. I deliberately avoided any actual blood for this one, as I thought it would look a little tacky, although now I’m thinking maybe a little trickle from the unicorn’s eye might be a worthy improvement. Like i say though, it was an experiment, so I’m inclined to just leave it be.
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A little get together with the girls ;-)
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see also: /
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Skeleton of Coyote and Datura blossom. Photo based mixed medium image.
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For you, and you alone, I have prepared a Blood Moon. It is for you, and you alone. As it permeates your being, it is for you alone. As it melts away your sense of self, it is for you alone. As it turns your bowels into liquid, it is for you alone. On the altar is the offering, filled with your wretched loathing. Beware and be wary. I have prepared this for you, and you alone. Image and text created by Susan Isabella Sheehan / “Art Is The Perception Of An Altered Reality©” / Copyright 2008 Surreal Digital Artist™ I invite you to visit Surreal Digital Artist
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Dancing Dragon in Chinese New Year’s parade
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No Easy God
by lianneMy easy God of childhood / to whom my simple prayers / were apparently acceptable, / and from whose hand in loving grace / were once so eas…
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I can’t function without my early morning dip.
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Around, all around, the shadows gather. / My dread grows as an avenging sword falls against my naked / soul. / It smites me, and darkly my vitae drips to the thirsty / earth. In my madness I dance, while nothingness hovers close. / Now alone, my supplication falls upon cold eyes. This was writen by my friend Liam_Lime who asked me to illustrate it for him. I hope you like it darling. TY Out of the shadows into the light. Through my work reborn. / In my Nightly Ritual. Model by MJ Ranum / background and all other images by LFR
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The Torah is the most holy of the sacred writings in Judaism. It is the first of three sections in the Tanakh (Hebrew Bible), the founding religious document of Judaism, and is divided into five books. The Torah contains a variety of literary genres, including allegories, historical narrative, poetry, genealogy, and the exposition of various types of law. According to rabbinic tradition, the Torah contains the 613 mitzvot ( “commandments”), which are divided into 365 negative restrictions and 248 positive commands.
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This image depicts a group of dancers in a sacred ritual. It is based on a group of Australian aboriginal dancers. Subtely worked into the arm and body positions is the word ‘LOVE’ ... see if you can work it out! Handmade papers and organic material from the rainforests of Northeast NSW
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Blinded and guided by the familiar. / New series of work featuring the wonderful Kim Buck, helping to live my strange familiar things x
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Acrylics & oil pastel on canvas 2008 Copyright. All Rights Reserved to Mariam Muradian. This painting was directly inspired by one of the visions I had in the Native American “Deeksha” Healing/Blessing on New Year’s Eve. My eyes were closed. / I saw penetrating yellow light pouring and radiating out from behind my eyes. I was able to see things in a “Maxfield Parrish way” again. Now consider from whence I have come….. August 2006 I was given a drug to assist my heart; helping to end 40 years of continual “heart attack magnitude” chest pain and to keep me from slipping in and out of consciousness. It was a new, still somewhat experimental, drug on the market….aka “expensive”. In January 2007, after my 13th heart surgery, the drug was increased to get me past a difficult recovery. I began having elevating pressures in my eyes and pain like knives inside my eyes. Very rapidly I lost my peripheral vision, my color vision, and my central vision. My eyes had become extremely light sensitive; I was given the darkest glasses. This was in the middle of painting The Genetic Bill of Rights Painting Series. I had to sort my colored paints into shades of grey (which I fell into quite naturally from my formal art training); I continued to paint in color even though I could not tell you what color it was, apart from some incredibly intuitive color vibrations I would get; sometimes I could even hear the color. The signature piece of that series was painted when I had only a sliver of vision remaining in my left eye. / Because I had so little sensitive vision left, the Blind Society deemed it unreliable and trained me blindfolded. I painted the signature piece 80% blindfolded. It was a beyond trippy time for me!!! During this whole loss of vision, I had the Blind Society coming to my home to train me in skills and navigation. I was taught to use a blind cane. I learned to type and use voice recognition software. I was learning to cook by sound. One day I set out to get the mail: I was gone for two hours, had fallen into a bush, and returned with no mail in hand! I was so overwhelmed and challenged. After much painful testing, it was decided that the new drug was the cause of the blindness. I was left with a lousy choice and no guarantees from the medical community. In October 2007, I found myself a long way from home, down a road that I didn’t like nor was I sure I could reverse, go back to the fork in the road, and choose again. Morphine and the runaway bobsled to hell! So I stopped the drug! I began Chinese Tong Ren. / Miraculously, my sight returned, color too! My peripheral is still not as it was before the drug…..whose complaining?!!! Painting is like candy to me now; I was born with the gift, but now it means even more! My mind and soul are still playing catch up with all that happened. I do not understand the “taking” or the “giving back” of it all…..maybe it is for the comfort of others? I suppose the worst way to come away from such a trial would be with a “metaphorically myopic soul”? (I would like to hear your comments on my last statement, please. Write.) What we see can be such a distracting illusion to the essence of what is really there. Oddly, sometimes I miss the darkness. I remember the lessons of the darkness. As my Father would say, “I have made the circumference.” / Gratitude does not even begin to cover it!.... ~Mariam Muradian See the other paintings in this series! /
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Copyright 2004 Mariam Muradian. All rights reserved. I painted this series, including this painting, after hang gliding at 10,000 feet! / That perspective and that experience changes you forever in a split second! Oil pastels , acrylics, and charcoal on canvas. CLICK ON SAME IMAGE IN MY JOURNAL UNDER “MY FLYING ART MOVIE” TO SEE THE SERIES SLIDE SHOW!
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Behind the delicate pink plasma veil the alien life forms begin performing the ritual dance. Spherical ova begin eminating from the vessel of life, each containing a pair of embryos. The eggs drift off into space…..to repeat this dramatic scenario throughout the galaxy. / (I was lucky, again, to capture this moment with my point and shoot. lol)
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Acrylics & oil pastel on canvas This painting is the inspiration for a poem by CC Arshagra. I am honored. “PAIN’S MIGHT … Oh The Tender Soul Of It All” The wound is, and life lands / To lose youth to pain’s age / Tomorrows came to cover you / And the hemorrhaging of it all To mind days of love’s endless battle with will / The treatments and drugs and the scalpels’ tear sealed / Whilst lo, your guard of love protected receiving / The subject of: You are an object to save The study and practice of treating the unknown / The science of mystery fed by narcotics / An oath of God-nature with a license to heal / Controlled by the most faithful desperate pleas pricing Oh how—God would teach you—the long ends of pain / How love’s guilt could rear up your sins living end / The will of your love for life grew ever-strong / Till here alone your plight withstood the fell time The wound is, and living life lands / To win wars of pain and rest not: more the same / To conquer controlling your dividing mind vice / To be love and be all wars’ opposites vying Then lo, time’s technology beat what is mortal / The heart was not going to kill you—The mother / What pain now knew so did your fight to recover / And Death’s loss was measured by what war was won? Then the day comes to know you cannot survive death / You cannot defeat life, love, or your soul’s self / There is no war questioning how your soul forms / Long—you are still here, (lost?) fighting with pain So you lay down your arms and say ‘Let the storms come,’ / And lo, what you always have known as defeat / Was a storm’s profound calm, and immeasurable peace / Your fight to fix life broken—fell to its knees To undergo living life here—sow to grow / You gave your fists hands to touch Death’s not alone / And you unfurled your wings here to span the whole globe / But were rained on by stones you have thrown Now all that pain taught you was still close at hand / You have only to move your mind’s wrathful command / And crush all things mortal with suffering’s might / And price your pride is wrong and paid by you’re right How pain has (constantly) taught you so well / But who lives within one sane heavenly hell? / If nothing is just the beginning of life / And death is a gift earned by one’s honest path Yet in pain’s domain—all wars cannot be one / For pain less its life, fears your own wholeness shared / Pain can not grasp not protecting its face / Its purpose is to trust no one but itself A dichotomy of answers held hands stretched apart / And mind you they never must form one love’s cup / To pool the world quenching pain’s love beyond thirst / And keep not the share of all swallowing others Forever pain weighs it must not grow extinct / Its powers of fortune fear losing its’ plight / But love comes and offers it freedom from this: / Fore-save pains lost knowledge of healing itself And the wound is, and now life lands upon the future was / Living has reached your eyes’ soul / And blindness has forced you to see your soul’s ravel / Through the loom of Good’s Evil & Evil’s Good travels Soul steps are here, as it all turns too real. / Physical stones tied to spirit’s unknown / By webs of raw innocence; faultless at birth / Blamed now and weighed at survival’s sane cliff Being’s form growing has gifted you this / The days are now filling with priceless relief / And more now what lessens inverted dimensions / Still your wing’s flights are delayed by flight lessons Sum love impossible is being born / How you cry at the gorge of your brain’s fabric torn / For pain is a headstone awaiting its’ site / But peace of mind can’t find its plot on this earth It’s here; being born, like the nose on your face / Now the wind gives you all the breath you need / The healing choice of pain ends; old wounds will die / Lay down your harm-laden weapons of fault For all faults are done! / There is no reward! / You are here now! / Harm none; include self! Live you are / Hereby one self and no more / Respect death’s gift / Moment by soul-moments form Heal pain and others will be led by you / Heal pain and other will be healed by you / Let go of pain’s will / For this is Your choice © Copyright 1/9/2008 C.C. Arshagra / From “the Poetry of good-bye” Series and collention (Unpublished work)
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you took my heart showed it pain / body bruised mind in chains / i thought it only a game / hid them at work / ashamed , they questioned me i felt lame when you talked of sutres i didnt understand / pagan witches burnt my secrets in their flames / naked under your white cloak / lord of darkness thought you were my saviour then / said you wanted to drink of me / in dark corners rubber clad / you bit me so hard / you were crazy i was sad pierced me with your eyes / i enjoyed the pain / dancing with the wolves i let them prey on my flesh / god how i loved it / i danced harder on your chest / i tiptoed through the flames feeling your desire / like ice on sunburnt skin
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WILD AND FREE / / These two chinstrap penguin were performing a mating ritual within a gentoo penguin rookery. / / (Antarctica) / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /
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Acrylics & oil pastel on canvas
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Ritual
by CrockpotCold chrysanthemums, / dead and dried, thin / and crisped by my thumb / into a fine silken powder; the sooty remains of you / cling to my …
Poem I wrote during the college years. / ©1995
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