Tragedy
168 creative works found
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This is my absolute favourite paring ever! My reproduction of an artwork called Lily’s Embrace done by Perselus on deviantart.com. (I have contacted the original artist, and she is aware that my reproduction of her work is posted here.) Done in pencil. A Severus Snape/Lily (Evans) Potter fan piece. Check out all of my Snape art here
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... / “There, on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds / Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke; / When down her weedy trophies and herself / Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide; / And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up: / Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes; / As one incapable of her own distress, / Or like a creature native and indued / Unto that element: but long it could not be / Till that her garments, heavy with their drink, / Pull’d the poor wretch from her melodious lay / To muddy death…” (Hamlet – Act 4. Scene VII)
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Stock Photograph: / From: stock.xchng / Photographer: matchstick / License: Royalty Free
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A shot of my friend Michel who doesn’t like being taken in picture.We had great fun that night taking each others portraits.«Negative and light»two words challenge.
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Drawn in Illustrator. Available as a print here
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Based on the following lines from a poem I wrote: / “For through the stillness of forest trees… floats to earth the remnants of angels’ wings”. The feather is a painting (deliberately made to look torn), the rest was created in Photoshop. /
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World Trade Center a few months before 9/11, New York, USA
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“Those who do not feel pain, seldom think that it is felt.” – Samuel Johnson. Medium: Indian ink and Gray wash, and Photoshop CS2.
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“And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, / The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces, / The solemn temples, the great globe itself, / Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, / And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, / Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff / As dreams are made on; and our little life / Is rounded with a sleep…” (The Tempest – Act IV, scene 1)
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The Twin Towers WTC in New York City photographed in September 2000. Nothing more needs to be said except that they were iconic and nobody will ever forget the outrage of the following year. I do not support the war on terror as it is happening but this is not the site for political debate. I loved their symmetery and the incredible sense of mans achievement when one simply looked up. The meaning of the word skyscraper multiplied by two. Questions regarding the attacks and our world as we know it. / http://www.zeitgeistmovie.com/main.htm
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Part of my 7 Sins Series calendar for Final Exhibition at college. Concept & Graphics: Faizan / Photography: MatchStick Derived from: Tragedy /
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Illustration based on the tragedy, Pyramus and Thisbe. Medium: Indian ink + Pantone markers.
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companion piece with Ubume / Funayūrei – The ghosts of those who perished at sea. / The lady in this picture and her husband were sunk at sea (can you see the ship?) :( / stock credits: http://www.deviantart.com/deviation/41487594/
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Tomorrow will be the tenth anniversary of my sobriety. / 10 years ago; I drew this. Almost to the DAY. I was drunk drunk DRUNK; I looked older than I do now. My eyes were yellow in the corners, my skin sickening in turn and colouring. Liver damage… jaundice HURTS… I had lost my license for three years; totalled my 1976 Honda civic. This also entailed the end of my job delivering pizzas. / I spent four hours a day on public transport, refusing to give up; to fail or bail on even one unit in my degree. Sweating glazed nauseous. / Yeh. / I was so lonely I would go and stand near other students. To be near someone. Anyone. / I was trying to be healthy, any way I could. I was a lot more heavily muscled from weights in those days. I dunno why they thought that was funny. They made fun of me a lot. I smiled sick. Took it. I don’t think I replied in those years before I quit. I don’t know. But I don’t think so. I can’t remember… and i can’t imagine it now. / I Stuttered. I stood still. Stayed. / After I sobered up I couldn’t believe that I didn’t feel sick all the time. I would get a shock every morning… I am NOT in physical PAIN? / And there were more gifts. After two months my face had completely changed shape. The subcutaneous fluid retention – the swollen cheek and uncertain jaw – the bicycle tire of tummy that had plagued my thousands of workouts. They were gone. I aged backwards, fast. / And I craved. / After three months, sudden colour surged fiercely bright to my startled, clear eyes. So BRIGHT! The wild saturated breaking point of surreal. Verdant and intense, so intense. / I swear at that moment. I could hear a low buzzing and hissing from the colour; in sibilant, sympathetic resonance… synesthesia? Nah. Shock. I stared. I stared. When I came back, sober, for the final year of my degree… I remember the nastiest of the girls who had ridiculed me stalked up to me with her coterie already giggling in anticipation. They were ak carefully so carefully dressed and rehearsed; each one. / ‘Oh look it’s – ’ she began, her full pretty lips curling as she pointed to my crotch. Her voice gaining volume as she warmed to one of her favourite impotence jokes. / ‘WOAH!’ I said, jumping out of my seat and knocking it over. / ‘WOAH! Crystal! You look SO MUCH like Ricky Lake! Woah… Christ. I am so sorry… So sorry.’ I patted her arm and turned away, biting a knuckle. She really did look like Ricky Lake. And I really had not noticed until that point. / She said nothing, her mouth open. She looked like a still of Ricky in Indy punk parody. / The coterie cackled… ‘Oh gawd Crystal someone else noticed!’ a goth sweating in her blacks and face paint hiccupped after her bray of laughter. / ‘You c*t.’ Crystal hissed to me. / Three months later I found myself in bed with her. Had I learned nothing? I craved. I fantasised… the perfect drink, the mania returning. Sweet succulent forgiveness. An absolution of numbness. A raw promise in a few drops. / The welcome of the sharp ethanol BITE. (“A hundred thousand welcomes! I could weep and I could laugh! I am light and heavy. Welcome!” – Shakespeare. I don’t think he meant a DRINK somehow.) I crave. I still crave. Sometimes. That warmth. / The guilt teased slowly outwards warmed and fooled… etiolated. / And, for that doomed moment, bearable. / At times, I ache for it. Nights that are hard and long. Sporadic; brutal want. / Still. / Yes.
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Or journey of the lost soul…I guess every day is a failure. I fail to live up to my own life. But I will die trying! I’m ready to make a leap of consciousness. The old struggles are no longer interesting. They do not engage my mind. My energy passes through them-they are mirages. I once sought big monuments of proof that I existed-no more. For me going deeper is better. Deeper insight is all that I seek…and a beautiful cup to drink from.
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Solar-resistant ambition. Vector Mix The complete image, Icarus Reborn. Hand-drawn in Illustrator and textured in Photoshop
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Watercolour on Paper 100cms x 70 or something x 2 as there are two of them hence the x 2 part. Am adding the song that I wrote from whence I took the titles to the two works… and to the diptych that contains them both. The individual works are here, with a fair bit more text (finally figured out I was leaving out the colon on the linking process. Yay! Go go power Paul!)... The first piece is Blame Your Green Eyes / / The second… For What They Have Seen and the uncropped version Blame Your Green Eyes For What They Have Seen Uncropped OUR LITTLE DEATHS… / You nail my guitar to the bedroom wall / You lick your lips promise me more / Take my nail polish, go out to score / But I can’t, I won’t help anymore. That final appointment waiting in line / A scar on the flesh of your inner thigh, / A casual promise and a white lie / Where the old bridge splits the hot night sky CHORUS / Our little deaths / Holding your breath / I’ll always be less / Always a mess / Ill never confess / To the cuts on my flesh / Or the tears on your dress / Are all we have left You carry the heat all bloody and keen / Hot with this fever since you were 15 / Stones you’ve kept for each lie you have been / Blame your green eyes, for what they have seen We kissed on the beach last Halloween. / And now we’ll never forget the shit we have seen / The hell in the wall the gorgeous machine / The tiny mad children that we have both been - Paul Robertson, sometimes afraid of trees.
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Tragedy!
by Matt RichardsonWe all try to reach so deep inside / over this, I pull my heart out and squeeze it dry / Ten years spent learning, playing and observing / ...
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One of the 62 Images of 279 taken that I liked from my latest studio shoot with Stephanie. To me, it has a sense of tragedy; though you don’t have to agree.
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A depiction of Boudicca rallying her troops to battle against the Roman Empire, in a desperate attempt to halt their empire building and globalisation. A brave, but failed, effort. It cost her dearly. Boudicca lends herself to a variety of supporters. To some, her actions represents a counter to the globalisation of the western world. Yet perversely Margret Thatcher visualised herself as Bouddica when she was dismantling the infrastructure of the UK, and softening it up for globalisation, which accelerated under Blair. Eventually, the Roman Empire was held in check by the Caledonians in the highlands of Alba (Scotland). Perversely, it is now a Scot, Gordon Brown, who is desperate to uphold the Globalisation Empire. How things change!
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One of my most powerful works according to friends and family. Take from it what you will. Medium: Indian ink and Gray wash, Pantone markers and Photoshop CS2.
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*photo taken at Santa Monica beach, CA
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