Thing
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André’s creation: eclectic pleasures
by Maxwell EdwardBlack and white keys, saxophone, guitar, everywhere. The music has much more magnificence than can be tried to be explained through words…
Black and white keys, saxophone, guitar, everywhere. The music has much more magnificence than can be tried to be explained through words. This jazzy rendezvous has always been André’s favourite ear-food. He just loves the way its beauty, splendour, radiance is ‘unleashed’. André stares at the canvas for over a dozen times. Here he is staring at the blank space which is future marvel…or was it to be past marvel? Had he missed his chance, missed the boat which would have sailed to sentimental stardom? He refuses to collaborate more than a sentence for any one idea. Any idea that deserves a sentence must deserve no doubt. Any canvas is only worth the greatest ideas. Two André’s exist; though only one at any one time. The withdrawn analytical front, designed for most occasions. On rare occasions the other character may appear, the intensive, massively determined André who acts on impulses. Impulsive André must be begged out. A Pandora’s Box of surprises, his job will at least never cease to astonish. “Dearest André, Through years have you befriended my son Louis, so therefore I am offering an opportunity to benefit both of our interests (with intent towards your gain). Litton inc., my company has stepped up towards mainstream success. We require visual arts for our newly bought edifice. I understand you have been painting for the eight years since high school. To your discretion I would like to require a painting; just one will suffice. I would like something vibrant and colourful, yet deep and meaningful; Contemporise to your own vision. Much thanks, Dr. Raymond Fonck.” The commissioned paper lies stuck on the wall. André has read it. Now it is time for the future. It has been too long sitting around (or rather bouncing around); too get too much productivity from anything. Someone once said to him that anything is good experience. True perhaps, although he prefers productivity, especially in a time of intensity such as this; three days left until confrontation. His vigilant eyes stroll around the room, searching for advice. He is not bored, nor has he painters block, for such a term does not exist and will not ever for him. His eyes strike the clock. The clock glares 5:48 pm back. What a disgusting fierce look it has. Not 5:45, nor 6:00 and only one uncomfortable minute in-between. For at this time these uncomforting three digits add to the frustration in the actual time. “Aw!” André suddenly realizes the importance of the time. It is the one factor which never seems to be on his side but actually encourages his total progress. It is an epiphany like that of a mother to the newborn. André decides to let his hands take / control. They are the secret key, (sometimes the gatekeepers of unleashing impulsive André) His dominant left one picks up the brush (over time it has made up for its fault of statistically losing him seven years). His right hand decides to lose cognition. It dips itself into a little puddle of Sangria oil paint muck. Than it flies onto the near-centre of the canvas, smeared diagonally. His left hand takes initiative once again, waving lines of smudge to and fro. Right hand brings more paint to its destination. Myrtle, Indigo, Olive, Magnolia…and no, not that…Yes, yes, even black! (Well seal brown to be precise). All of these contextually beautiful colours unleashed! There are no thoughts in André’s mind now. This is impulsive André now; organised thought is of little importance! That colour is important here. This colour is unimportant there. A few lines of any colour are important right here or there, but perhaps a darker colour is better. More negative space up and down the edges. Shape is forming. Lines are bolding. Complete non-representational form is diminishing. Visualizations; the visualized images in mind are being…unloaded bit by bit. It is coming about. What is it though? No one knows. If anybody could guess it definitely would not be André. André knows he has the power to bring out the reality in it though. In a seemingly paradox situation he must not connect to reality at the moment though. Now, after these hours of painting, André is in the painting. He would not know it has been hours besides the constant glare of the illuminating digital clock staring from across the room; it unconsciously processes its recognition into André. The phone screams out, ‘br-ring, br-ring!’ Like the other external matter it creeps into André, until finally its screams become too annoying to ignore. It’s too late now…impulsive André has vanished; his conventional counterpart has replaced him. The phone persists though. André decides to take it (typical for his returned mannerism). He dives across the room horizontally attacking the corner where that nuisance phone lies. ‘Aw, aw, aw, aw!’ A tube of paint has squirt from underneath his stomach. Agonising that his material friend can be so painful at times (like any of his life long friends). He picks up the phone; only the tone. He has missed whatever, whoever it was. Once again, missing the boat… Now thought and all that comes with it has returned. Why now out of all times possible? There is only sadness, misery, all this escalated from these small miniscule misfortunes; all has turned to turmoil! What can one do, when feeling like crawling into a hole? His secret minor disorders such as his claustrophobia would prevent him from crawling into that hole, even if he had one. At the moment everything feels like one big hole. Not surprisingly André’s eyes begin doing the only thing they know to do in times of unrest; wander. It is impossible to ignore what is there; it has been there all along, yet has never been seen. It is beautiful! It is splendour! It is radiance!! It is interrupted by another scream of ‘br-ring br-ring’. André picks up the damn phone. Without contemplation he whispers, “Sir, madam, I’m very terribly busy, could you perhaps call back sometime?” A deep sophisticated voice replies, “Raymond Fonck, André. Listen, I need to know about the progress of the painting. How is it going; ready to sell on Friday?” Many emotions garner at the speed of light inside André allows these emotions to clash inside of him. The painting; it is beautiful, splendour, radiance! How could he give it away now, after an indescribable series of emotional contributions? It is something that has not been attempted before; yet it is new but the expression of old. It is everything, at the moment, hopefully containing more interpretive inoculations for the future. It is a subject, of just some time, yet it contains a collaboration of detail separated from time. It is…once again interrupted by screams, this time of another sort; the infuriating talking of man. “André. Are you there?” Feelings of great rebellion sweep André off his feet. He knows how he will revolutionize his life, because after all; this painting has revolutionized his thought already. “Mister Fonck. I am so sorry. Some things have come over me…a type of sickness…although I am sure you are not aware of this mad syndrome I am suffering due to it. Well to the point, I must say I will not be supplying you with your wanted artwork. Thank you for your understanding. Hopefully we can collaborate something in future.” André hangs the phone up without replies, without a stated understanding from the mister Fonck. Without even the knowledge of acceptance or approval from the mister Fonck…it does not matter. All that matters is this new painting, this contemporised vision. It is everything. Most importantly of all, it is…unleashed!
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Do you remember the moomins? The Hattifatteners were small white creatures that grew from seeds and came together when there was a big thunderstorm.. ‘He looked at the Hattifatteners, and with electric simplicity he understood it all. He grasped that only a great thunderstorm could put some life in Hattifatteners. They were heavily charged but hopelessley locked up. They didn’t feel, they didn’t think – they could only seek. Only in the presence of electricity they were able to live at last, strongly and with great and intense feelings…..’ ~ Tales from Moominvalley by Tove Jansson.
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Minimalist abstract study of speeding cyclists, focusing more on the dynamics of the speed and motion of their movements / Oil on Stretched Canvas – No Airbrushing 37 X 59 inches / 94 X 150 cm contact my Agents at Gallery 112 / .....................................................................................
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This is a macro of a tiny little shoe Key Ring…........it does remind me of the Fairy Tale Cinderella and her lost shoe….........xkc For a Quick Look click / Gorgeous Gods & Goddesses, / Flowers, / Beautiful Places and Things, / Weddings / Pregnancy and Babies
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‘List of Things that hold things Up or Together’ a good reference for people who like to cobble foreign particles together
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Get hold of a child and listen. This strange design trait that has been lurking for about 6 years now, of taking wings off of things and putting them on things that never had wings to begin with, in order to elicit a wry smile from the viewer because they’d never thought of putting bat wings on a fucking bowler hat, and oh how imaginative, has started to really irk me. And I started thinking about where all the wings came from, presumably there was a big graveyard somewhere of things that were missing their wings, fairies, angels, butterflies, pigeons etcetera. This is a dragonfly, I know fuck all about dragonflies, but if you take away their wings they’re just dragons, and they look piss all like dragons. There were loads more. But you can’t see them.
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Self Portrait Finalist in the Olive Cotton Award.
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I took this picture in 2006 with my old, old Sony Cybershot. No cropping. It’s always been one of my favorites. Self portrait.
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Best Viewed Large All Rights Reserved / @ Julia Wright This rose capture is straight from the camera!
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Ragman's excellent advice on all things arty farty
by Mel BrackstoneRagman has put together some journals covering some basics of doing it right when it comes to ar…
Ragman has put together some journals covering some basics of doing it right when it comes to art/photography. Here are some of the excerpts from his up-coming book. Very worthwhile reading, for everyone, IMHO! I’ll add this to my list of handy tips and tricks, so it’s easy to find from my profile page. Concept / Context / Content / Constructs / Composition / Capture / Chance / Canvas / Camera and Computer / Creative Connection
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best to describe…..spontaniety…..sunny things..almost a mindscape! / Large, thick watercolour on waterproof paper (offcuts from a large graphic display)the paper is fun! i used a black chinagraph pencil that glides on the paper!
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When I decided to study nursing in the late 80’s, my Grandmother; who had been a nurse herself during the war years; gave me her old nursing text book, thinking that I might get some use from it. / As a nursing text it was an amusing way to learn all the things not to do, but for a peek into the past, it was priceless. / It is inscribed inside the cover with her name, the date – 1932, & the hospital at which she did her Nursing training. While leafing through the pages this afternoon I discovered this little gem, that I have never previously come across…. A new chapter – Bacteriology – begins. Words on the page like bacterium, microbe, pathogen, stagnant pools[???].... / But also; pressed lovingly between the pages; the remnants of a daisy flower & leaf, & a hand written note pertaining to “paroxysmal tachycardia”, & numerous other notations in the various margins, scribbled in pencil, obscure references to other strange states of health. Only my grandmother would know the truth of this page….. only she knows what made her secrete a once beautiful bloom there, amongst the stagnant & diseased. I feel like I’ve stumbled upon some bizarre time capsule…..... not so bizarre really…. just a touching reminder of someone once & still greatly loved. [Canon EOS 1000D] redbubble homepage feature – August 2009 /
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From the Black Butterfly series. Portrait of DaHuang Zhou, charcoal on mylar drafting film with moonstone Canson backing paper, 18×18”. From a reference photo by Steven E. Gross. I am a member of the 33 Collective Gallery located in the Zhou Brother’s Art Center, Chicago. The Zhou Brothers have been generous to allow our co-op gallery to use the entire art center for our group show this month. The show opens Friday March 20th, 2009. The Zhou Brothers are always on hand at the center and are very supportive of the members of the gallery and of their artists in residence. I am fascinated with them, their persona, and their work and decided they would be perfect subjects to draw for my series, which always features creatives as models. DaHuang Zhou’s older brother Shan Zuo was the subject for the companion piece, “I Dreamed I Was a Butterfly”. The butterfly is borrowed from a Chinese watercolor design, and the Chinese symbols stand for “passion-enthusiasm” As noted in my earlier blogs, in this series the butterfly is symbolic of the artist’s muse. The title of this work comes from the closing verse of this Chinese literature by Zhuangzi – [Chuang-Tse] “One day about sunset, Zhuangzi dozed off and dreamed that he turned into a butterfly. / He flapped his wings and sure enough he was a butterfly… / What a joyful feeling as he fluttered about, he completely forgot that he was Zhuangzi. / Soon though, he realized that that proud butterfly was really Zhuangzi who dreamed he was a butterfly, or was it a butterfly who dreamed he was Zhuangzi! / Maybe Zhuangzi was the butterfly, and maybe the butterfly was Zhungzi? This is what is meant by the “transformation of things.” – Zhuang Zi (369?-286? b.c.) The Zhou brothers short biography: The Zhou Brothers are one of the most accomplished contemporary artists in the world today renowned for their unique collaborative work process. They always work together on their paintings, performances, sculptures, and prints, often communicating without words in a so-called dream dialogue. Their thinking, aesthetic, and creativity are a symbiosis of Eastern and Western philosophy, art, and literature that informed their development since early childhood. Their indomitable spirit allowed them to leave behind their brilliant success in China, where they were hailed as national heroes for their early work, to step onto the world stage. They have since achieved international acclaim while continuing to work in the West. The Zhou Brothers, Shan Zuo and DaHuang Zhou, were born in China 1952 and 1957 respectively. They studied drama and painting at the University of Shanghai from 1978 to 1982 and the National Academy for Arts and Crafts in Beijing from 1983 to 1984 where they received their MFAs. During the beginning of the 1980s they became leaders of the contemporary art movement in China. In 1985 they won the National Prize of the Chinese Avant-Garde of the Ministry of Culture and the Prize for Creativity from the Peace Corps of the United Nations. They were also honored as the first contemporary artists ever to show their work in an exhibition that traveled to the five largest museums in China, including the National Art Museum of China in Beijing and the art museums in Shanghai and Nanjing. Realizing that the political and cultural landscape at that time would not allow them to expand their careers, an invitation to exhibit in Chicago in 1986 presented a timely opportunity to make the transition onto an international stage. The Zhou Brothers have consequently maintained their home and studios in Chicago while actively exhibiting their work nationally and abroad.” Companion piece, portrait of DaHuang’s brother Shan Zuo Zhou:
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You Make My Heart Sing! / /
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I left work today wondering why my boss is so miserable on a friday, so I came up with this piece…lol
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/ __________________ Fictional traditional painting, 18×24 cm / Acrylics, gouache & watercolours on canvas. / Creation Date: 02.08.2009 Inspired by the poem “The Thing at the Top of the Stairs” by Sharon Baker which is part of the poem collection Now We Are Sick: An Anthology of Nasty Verse — / / — © All images copyright ROUBLE RUST / Spyridoula Bleta / All the images in this gallery are copyrighted, are NOT part of public domain & may not be reproduced, copied, edited, transmitted, uploaded, downloaded, or published in any way without my permission. Any violation of this copyright law will result in a lawsuit.
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Is the beating of your heart. Mikey was born deaf 11/20/09 – 110
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Another shapes inside shape design. (just love creating them). This was created using vector shapes as well as some of my own. This song has been my own personal little anthem for over 10 years that always gets my heart through everything /
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