{sergi guijarro}

spacerowała po krawędzi wydmy, terenem oznaczonym tablicą "wstęp wzbroniony" i zastanawiała, gdzie mogłaby usadowić swój tyłek wygodnie na tyle, aby bez szczególnych wyrzutów sumienia móc nielegalnie zapalić papierosa i nielegalnie zgasić go następnie w zasuszonych liściach.  jakby była dzieckiem, robiła ostatnio wszystko na przekór, żeby tylko nie wziąć odpowiedzialności za siebie, a móc ją zrzucić na kogoś innego, powołanego do pełnienia roli piewcy moralności. zignorowała więc zakaz i rozsiadła się w miejscu, które wydawało się wolne od wszędobylskich mrówek.

obserwowała przez jakiś czas te pracowite stworzenia, krzątające się w kółko, czyniące ziemię ruchomą magmą, po czym pogrążyła się w lekturze Murakamiego, zdającego wywodzić się z iście lynchowskiego świata.
niebo spowite fluorescencyjnym różem, z gatunku tych od ciotki Józi, a la Majka Jeżowska, rozproszyło jej skupienie i sprawiło, że przepełniło ją jak najgłębsze poczucie jedności z kiczowatością całego uniwersum.

historia o siedzeniu na gałęzi i czytaniu wydała jej się początkowo zupełnie normalnym początkiem dla opowieści dramatycznej i absurdalnej tak, jak jej dotychczasowe życie. jakoś jednak przeczucie banału nie pozwoliło na ciąg dalszy. zapalenie papierosa w miejscu niedozwolonym, widok kiczowatego nieba i te, ganiające jak oszalałe, mrówki - to chyba wystrczająca dawka dramatyzmu, jak na dzisiejsze czasy prostych historii autorstwa emocjonalnych sierot.

 

refreshing...

the owl appears in fairytales (could have anybody forgotten the owl from the Winnie the Pooh?) as an animal which symbolises wisdom. but there are much more possibillities of symbolism of that mysterious animal. here are the cinese letters for the OWL:

 

in fact, the origins of its symbolism reach the ancient times and in every culture have different connections. I've found that representations of the owl are still very popular in art, nevertheless, without any relation with the occultism, rather as a nice mascot with lovely feather and funny 'face'.  

Goya, Linda Maestra

Amy Ross


Trish Grantham

in Greek mythology, the owl, and specifically the Little Owl, was often associated with the goddess Athena, a bird goddess who became associated with wisdom, the arts, and skills, and as a result, owls also became associated with wisdom.
the Romans, in addition to having borrowed the Greek associations of the owl (Owl of Minerva), also considered owls to be funerary birds, due to their nocturnal activity and often having their nests in inaccessible places.

Lena Wolff

in France, a difference is made between hiboux, eared owls, which are considered symbols of wisdom, and chouettes, earless owls, which are considered birds of ill omen.

Amy Alice Thompson

in Finland the owl is paradoxically viewed as both a symbol of wisdom, and as a symbol of imbecility, presumably because of its "dumb stare" :D

Alena Hennessy

for more look here: The Illuminatus Observor !!!

God Ra with an owl

Dash Snow


Dominique Fung: Requiem final

Bitch von Kicz

True Blood, dir. Alan Ball

according to the postmodern fascination with misticism and strange beings which exist on the border between reality and a dream, let me introduce you THE BLOODY ART. as we can see, the artist look for something more than a pop-culture as well.

Seppuku. from: Trevor Brown

one or two months ago the second season of the True Blood ended, so it's like a reminder of that specific climate. on the field of art the topic of blood is strictly related to the body. I want to present some of the most interesting examples of that kind of art, which usually shouldn't be taken literally (as we know, the art isn't a literal thing at all). sometimes its motives and roots are ingrained in the culture, sometimes in the common sense of majority, sometimes in the past... (so are the themes from the True Blood...). we  don't even fully realise how deeply we are related to the mythology.

I think those artist recuperate our bodies from the collusion and make us think about them like about good friends, all the emissions of our body are only our owns. bacause of that we should know how to use our senses to make them work for us.

Marc Quinn, Self
blood (artist's), stainless steel, perspex and refrigeration equipment, 2001


Hanka Nowicka, Menstruation


Pipilotti Rist


Bettina Rheims

the symbolism of the color red is also very important. red is frequently used as a symbol of guilt, sin and anger, often as connected with blood or sex. a biblical example is found in Isaiah: "Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be white as snow". also, The Scarlet Letter, an 1850 American novel by Nathaniel Hawthorne, features a woman in a Puritan New England community who is punished for adultery with ostracism, her sin represented by a red letter 'A' sewn into her clothes.

such artists like Bogna Burska or Katarzyna Górna and other who appear here, try to show us the dark and the bright side of that symbolism, re-interpreting the schemes that we live by.

La Fontaine de Sang
Charles Baudelaire
Il me semble parfois que mon sang coule à flots,
Ainsi qu'une fontaine aux rythmiques sanglots.
Je l'entends bien qui coule avec un long murmure,
Mais je me tâte en vain pour trouver la blessure.

À travers la cité, comme dans un champ clos,
Il s'en va, transformant les pavés en îlots,
Désaltérant la soif de chaque créature,
Et partout colorant en rouge la nature.

J'ai demandé souvent à des vins captieux
D'endormir pour un jour la terreur qui me mine;
Le vin rend l'oeil plus clair et l'oreille plus fine!

J'ai cherché dans l'amour un sommeil oublieux;
Mais l'amour n'est pour moi qu'un matelas d'aiguilles
Fait pour donner à boire à ces cruelles filles!

Fontanna krwi
Charles Baudelaire

Niekiedy zdaje mi się, że krwi mojej fale
Uchodzą gdzieś ze mnie, słyszę ich rytmiczne żale,
Jak bijącej fontanny przeciągłe westchnienia,
Ale na próżno rany szukam bez wytchnienia.

Poprzez miasta arenę rwie naprzód wytrwale,
Tworząc wysepki w bruku, wciąż uchodzi w dale,
Gasi wszędzie pragnienie wszelkiego stworzenia,
Wszystkie barwy w przyrodzie w czerwoną zamienia.

Nieraz chciałem zatopić w oszukańczym winie
Pamięć zgrozy, co skrzydła rozpięła nade mną,
Lecz słuch się lepiej w ciszę, wzrok w noc wbijał ciemną!

Myślałem, że mnie miłość w sen głuchy spowinie,
Lecz była jak poduszka igłami natknięta,
By mogły pić do woli okutne dziewczęta!

Bogna Burska, Małgorzata


Katarzyna Górna, Madonny, 1996-2001

"Life is painful and disappointing. It is useless, therefore, to write new realistic novels. We generally know where we stand in relation to reality and don’t care to know any more" — Michel Houellebecq (H. P. Lovecraft: Against the World, Against Life)

recently, I've been reading novels of Michel Houellebecq. I'm under his influence and I have to say that I'm totally fine. the last book, The Possibility of An Island is... so humanistic (!). the vision of life that he shows on the pages of that book is infiltrated by a deep feeling of unity between human beings in their sad and short existence, which is marked with a fear of death and corporal destruction. and, behind all that, the only thing that counts is LOVE.

"If life is an illusion it's a pretty painful one" — Michel Houellebecq (The Possibility of an Island)

"Et l'amour, où tout est facile,
Où tout est donné dans l'instant;
Il existe au milieu du temps
La possibilité d'une île"  — Michel Houellebecq (The Possibility of an Island)

"Love binds, and it binds forever. Good binds while evil unravels. Separation is another word for evil; it is also another word for deceit" — Michel Houellebecq (The Elementary Particles)

by: Irene Cecile

"Lorsque la sexualité disparaît, c'est le corps de l'autre qui apparaît, dans sa présence vaguement hostile; ce sont les bruits, les mouvements, les odeurs; et la présence même de ce corps qu'on ne peut plus toucher, ni sanctifier par le contact, devient peu à peu une gêne; tout cela malheureusement, est connu. La disparition de la tendresse suit toujours de près celle de l'érotisme. Il n'y a pas de relation épurée, d'union supérieure des âmes, ni quoi que ce soit qui puisse y ressembler, ou même l'évoquer sur un mode allusif. Quand l'amour physique disparaît, tout disparaît; un agacement morne, sans profondeur, vient remplir la succession des jours" — Michel Houellebecq (The Possibility of an Island)

 

this is my favorite one. forever in dept for the priceless help of Esra Roise


the picture of that sweet ribbon isn't of course mine, but I can't remember whose it is. sorry...


this is the best of the best!!! photo made by Ahndraya Parlato (polaroid)

and now! tamtarrarrrraaaaaamtaaaaaam! my own stickers in two variants! with my photo from the last holiday. with the sea :)

1.

2.

SPLASH


the illusion is that you are simply
reading this poem.
the reality is that this is
more than a
poem.
this is a beggar's knife.
this is a tulip.
this is a soldier marching
through Madrid.
this is you on your
death bed.
this is Li Po laughing
underground.
this is not a god-damned
poem.
this is a horse asleep.
a butterfly in
your brain.
this is the devil's
circus.
you are not reading this
on a page.
the page is reading
you.
feel it?
it's like a cobra. it's a hungry eagle circling the room.

this is not a poem. poems are dull,
they make you sleep.

these words force you
to a new
madness.

you have been blessed, you have been pushed into a
blinding area of
light.

the elephant dreams
with you
now.
the curve of space
bends and
laughs.

you can die now.
you can die now as
people were meant to
die:
great,
victorious,
hearing the music,
being the music,
roaring,
roaring,
roaring.

 

I remember when I was a child and I fell in love with a boy from the neighbourhood. I was leaving him sweet letters with hearts and poems next to his doors. I always dreaming of a day when he would do the same... but it never happened (maybe that's the reason why I'm so lonely person in the crowd now - I missed my only & true love! ^.^). But, the point is that, as usual, the things are circulating in the air and some of the ideas which we have in our minds and which we don't have time to put into practice come back to us in some strange or funny circumstances. Once I invented a great art project based on sending love letters to people I know they were alone or unhappy. I didn't do it, of course - another idee fixe, conceptual and non-formal.

So, today I found a similar project on the web: Michael Crowe and Lenka Clayton in April 2006 sent a personal, handwritten letter to each of the 467 households in the small Irish village of Cushendall. They hoped these unsolicited letters would prompt neighbourly discussion, spreading across the town, promoting community curiosity.The art work consists solely of the discussion between the recipients about what on Earth these letters are, who sent them and why, etc.
I love the idea! Here is one of the letters:

Maggot (after an intervention of fina_gelatina)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~