What's in art? Those fleeting passions, unpremeditated escapades and that's all... They tease with fantasy, imaginary lands and magic, leaving behind only memory: lines, hues, rhythm - that's all... Opening lost doors of the mind, into thoughts tucked far away; conjuring a dream that is lived only to abandon, never stay... For once the pen… Continue reading On the folly of it all…
Dear reader, it’s funny how the world is so full of contradictions; how every time a proposition is presented, the contradictions come rushing in - the opponents, the critics, the naysayers. Not to sound too morose, but I find the greatest contradiction has manifested itself in regards to the impending inevitable, the doom, the death,… Continue reading The Real in the Unreal
Don’t dare to delve so deep, dear child, into the dark woods that you cannot find your way back… The woods are green and glorious, yes, but the woods are grim and ghastly too. The tenacious woods will trap you within themselves, closing in on you, climbing up your very toes, causing you to tumble… Continue reading The Wild Woods
You chose the balmy ink to delineate, a dismal, (formerly unevoked ) cry; then appalled at the sketchy truth, did to bits separate, the frail parchment with fingers spry. What started in an inspired hour, proved taxing and intricate to upkeep; colours and lines bore uncanny power, to disrupt, to reveal... Cowed all the while… Continue reading THE REMNANTS
Dry not, my pen, nor bite the dust before my time, you're the nepenthe to my agonies, the breath to my life. Dry not, my pen, nor leave me to fend for myself, your nib is my sword, your ink my solitary help. Dry not, my pen, nor grow weary of my imprint, I am… Continue reading Dry not, my pen
