For a little something that I'm working on... The fur is made out of hair from Yours Sincerely and dear Ms. Johanna -- who was just done colouring her hair. (The legs were made out of her skin too, shot while still stained with red hair dye).
I myself don't find spiders particularly yucky (flies are much worse) so here comes another.
(As for the whole picture, it's not done yet. All in good time.)
The irony that I am loosing sleep over this... but dear Johanna is making such a nice dreamcatcher for me and this is the spiritual counterpart: The same white feathers, and so on. The late hour made me keep the number of details down; we get something slightly more stylized but that can't hurt. And now as I write this I had better get some sleep. Enjoy!
Despite not having any time really I got back to my oil a little while ago. And here we have a hand (obviously) from which a landscape might unfold for the H*** and * of it. (Sorry for the photo quality as usual.) Hues close to the background (natural colour canvas) give the hand a somewhat transparent, perhaps dreamy feeling, and... why not. Life is but a dream.
So it goes. And here one might buy my Sylvia Plath poster for easy download to your happy printer, and see a movie if you don't feel tempted enough...
It feels odd, being somehow mentally prepared for the situation. I already knew down to the marrow that madmen exist; one who tried to kill me last summer and one who might've done me in anyway last spring. (Most readers know this very well and I add this for the record: What happened last Friday was that a lunatic raced with a stolen truck into as many pedestrians as possible, killing four and maiming several others.) Yet yesterday I saw sadness, consternation on the people going by -- but no trace of real panic. People were wonderful on the whole that Friday; caring, helping strangers in all possible manners. (Many couldn't make it home that evening as all public transit shut down, but others opened their homes and hearts.) They Kept Calm and Carried On. I see it as a Win.
(Here's as far as I got. We lack colour and depth, possibly texture too. But we do have something solemn. And that famous city hall tower, for some reason.)
There were flowers enough for thirteen St. Valentines' on the spot. A friend thought that I should paint the scene for History, roses, all the people! And all. But I thought it better to draw something symbolic (if anything at all) and there we are.
I hope that this sober spirit is to remain. As I write this, very little is known. Yet already, and it's no surprise, the Far Right wants to have it an act of terrorism. Far Left equally much wants it to be Not Necessarily A Terrorist for the same reason (preferably not at all) and I am not looking forward to the upcoming debate. I'd very much prefer the Calm and Carry On that I saw yesterday to remain.
On an entirely different note, I've made some little progress on that oil that I mentioned the other week. (I'll show you next week, I think?) Life goes on. It actually does.
Hussssh. There's not much to say. We're behind a mask. Perhaps it is only here, as Nietzsche said, that we can be true. As usual I don't know what it says with its ever so expressive silence (it shares this tendency towards silent loudness with most of my output) -- perhaps you can hear, you who hear well?
I am happy that I captured how all the letters are bustling under the skin, throbbing, longing to get out. They would love to become words, explode as syllables and perhaps even whole sentences before they die, but they're being held captive within our bodies and we don't let them.
No wonder that the face looks as mad as it does, eyes cold, sharp and dim. As if it thought;
"I know, I know painfully well, but I can never tell.
Particularly not in front of myself."
