April 18th 2015
Art Piece:
PixCell-Deer#24
Kohei Nawa (Japanese, born 1975)
Heisei period (1989-present)
2011
Mixed media; taxidermied deer with artificial crystal glass
Bubbles
Proud and tall, where the real is fighting the altered.
You can see yourself, here.
When I look through you I am upside down,
Titled.
Not proper, never proper.
Transparent and clear, composing colors after colors into one harmonious rainbow.
I sit.
I feel myself.
My presence is never ignored.
Soft, breakable, but wise.
A deer:
(Sensitive, strong intuition. Mastering the art of being both determined and gentle in your approach)
Wired hair stuck to her skin when she wants to be drenched in pearls and twirls.
Glass.
Don’t break.
Let them hang from her chest.
Dangle.
Wearing antlers on top so strong so mighty, carrying weights of all the burdens high for everyone to see.
The reflection is one in the same.
You are who you are, but never admitting.
The people see her. They see themselves.
Present.
They are.
Reflected back in the view of everyone.
They - see themselves in her.
But she can’t see herself in any.
Some small, some tall, the spheres wrap her body in wonder and clarity.
Her body is truer than most.
Pieces never fitting together, she’s no puzzle.
She’s not something instructions can navigate.
Her departments don’t fit together.
Fit.
More like fought.
It’s not supposed to look nice, it’s suppose to make you feel something - and I can’t stop looking
At you.
Her eyes wide and feet firm.
If she could, she wouldn’t.
She wouldn’t walk, but glide.
And all the animals would stop to watch.
Art Piece:
Gustave Courbet
French, Ornans 1819 – 1877 La tour –de-Peliz
Woman with a Parrot, 1866
Oil on canvas
Sprawled out has the connotation of being messy.
No mess, just not clean.
Proud and content the woman is all over the place.
It’s intent.
Beauty within spreads outward through the words unspoken.
Never a word, there’s no need.
Gentle wings spread, but no need to fly.
They can, but don’t.
They’ve found a home, found a bed, together.
That’s always the hardest part.
She still chooses the floor.
Darkness surrounds my angel.
Rays of light fight in the darkness for the recognition of glory.
Finger tips swipe along the neck, down the back, into the inner thighs - to the knee.
Long, promiscuous caterpillars crawling.
Lengthen within every movement. Every breath.
Free.
Comfortable and still, no words are spoken where she lives.
The only speech that remains is elsewhere – silence has arrived here.
The background surrounds the babe with warmth and tenderness.
Nourished.
Not smiles, but smirks.
The birds sit upon her hand of grace.
Fly away when you choose.
He will forever wait here until she decides to get up.
Let the hairs on the head find their path through the maze not knowing where to go, but not forcing any which way.
Curious.
Upside down, turn her around, back is arched up.
His beak bites her finger and takes his time to lick.
Art Piece:
Attributed to Goya (Fraansico de Goya y Lucientes)
Spanish, Fuendetodos 1746 – 1828 Bordeaux
Majas on a Balcony
Ca. 1800 -1810
Oil on canvas
Light milk smothers her skin.
Hovered by two faceless men the ladies ears are being covered by invisible hands.
Mad.
Mean with forecasting horror and mischief.
Females wear robes of sapphire silk, gems hang from their teeth, and garments showing innocence with a hint of cleverness.
Do tell.
Secrets float across the balcony,
Forever an ongoing anticipation.
They’re fenced in without escape.
Women gather and share insight on wonderful pastimes by making the words short and sweet.
Pinky’s up.
Madam? More sugar?
Please.
Cheeks turn colors like mood rings from pale to rose to green.
Little do the men in dark know.
Like a muddy cloud the morning sky doesn’t look promising.
The devils kiss their prey as they sleep.
But the heart grows in content more than ever because the shield of gravel covers every beat.
Sleeping beauty is now safe.
Tonight,
Hands contain rings from one finger to the next that promise loyalty.
Loyalty.
A strong feeling in support of allegiance.
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