Showing posts with label prints. Show all posts
Showing posts with label prints. Show all posts
Sunday, January 13, 2013
Saturday, July 28, 2012
Dario Wolf... graphic works...
Monday, July 16, 2012
Saturday, May 12, 2012
Paolo Farinati...The Punishment of Marsyas...1573
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Agathias (c. 536-582 AD)
translated by Richard Garnett
Satyr, whose listening ear so low is bent
Breathes with spontaneous strain thine instrument?
Smiling and silent thou remainest bound
In silvery fetters of delightful sound;
For sure that lifelong figure here doth dwell
Fixed not by Painting's, but by Music's spell.
translated by Richard Garnett
Satyr, whose listening ear so low is bent
Breathes with spontaneous strain thine instrument?
Smiling and silent thou remainest bound
In silvery fetters of delightful sound;
For sure that lifelong figure here doth dwell
Fixed not by Painting's, but by Music's spell.
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
Antonius Eisenhoit (around 1553-1603)... print ...Haeresis Dea... 1589
I thought it was time to blog this image as i still get lots of enquiries on it since i first posted it back when i started blogging on myspace about 2007, and HERE she is in her detailed glory, enjoy!
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Lovis Corinth ... print... self portrait.... 1917
Saturday, January 14, 2012
Frank von Sepp... illustrations for Faust 1921...
click on image to enlarge
click on image to enlarge
~
Fill your heart to overflowing,
and when you feel profoundest bliss,
then call it what you will:
Good fortune! Heart! Love! or God!
I have no name for it!
Feeling is all;
the name is sound and smoke,
beclouding Heaven's glow.
MEPHISTOPHELES The modest truth I speak to thee.
If Man, the microcosmic fool, can see
Himself a whole so frequently,
Part of the Part am I, once All, in primal Night,--
Part of the Darkness which brought forth the Light,
The haughty light, which mow disputes the space,
And claims of Mother Night her ancient place.
And yet, the struggle fails; since Light, however weaves,
Still, fettered, unto bodies cleaves:
It flows from bodies, bodies beautifies;
By bodies is its course impeded;
And so, but little time is needed,
I hope, ere, as the bodies die, it dies!
If Man, the microcosmic fool, can see
Himself a whole so frequently,
Part of the Part am I, once All, in primal Night,--
Part of the Darkness which brought forth the Light,
The haughty light, which mow disputes the space,
And claims of Mother Night her ancient place.
And yet, the struggle fails; since Light, however weaves,
Still, fettered, unto bodies cleaves:
It flows from bodies, bodies beautifies;
By bodies is its course impeded;
And so, but little time is needed,
I hope, ere, as the bodies die, it dies!
from Faust by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
previous von Sepp
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Saturday, October 8, 2011
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Arthur Boyd... print....1993
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
William Blake... print & poem..1793
"The terror answerd: I am Orc, wreath'd round the accursed tree:
The times are ended; shadows pass the morning 'gins to break;
The fiery joy, that Urizen perverted to ten commands,
What night he led the starry hosts thro' the wide wilderness:
That stony law I stamp to dust: and scatter religion abroad
To the four winds as a torn book, & none shall gather the leaves;
But they shall rot on desert sands, & consume in bottomless deeps;
To make the deserts blossom, & the deeps shrink to their fountains,
And to renew the fiery joy, and burst the stony roof.
That pale religious letchery, seeking Virginity,
May find it in a harlot, and in coarse-clad honesty
The undefil'd tho' ravish'd in her cradle night and morn:
For every thing that lives is holy, life delights in life;
Because the soul of sweet delight can never be defil'd.
Fires inwrap the earthly globe, yet man is not consumed;
Amidst the lustful fires he walks: his feet become like brass,
His knees and thighs like silver, & his breast and head like gold.
And Satan is the Spectre of Orc & Orc is the generate Luvah"
The times are ended; shadows pass the morning 'gins to break;
The fiery joy, that Urizen perverted to ten commands,
What night he led the starry hosts thro' the wide wilderness:
That stony law I stamp to dust: and scatter religion abroad
To the four winds as a torn book, & none shall gather the leaves;
But they shall rot on desert sands, & consume in bottomless deeps;
To make the deserts blossom, & the deeps shrink to their fountains,
And to renew the fiery joy, and burst the stony roof.
That pale religious letchery, seeking Virginity,
May find it in a harlot, and in coarse-clad honesty
The undefil'd tho' ravish'd in her cradle night and morn:
For every thing that lives is holy, life delights in life;
Because the soul of sweet delight can never be defil'd.
Fires inwrap the earthly globe, yet man is not consumed;
Amidst the lustful fires he walks: his feet become like brass,
His knees and thighs like silver, & his breast and head like gold.
And Satan is the Spectre of Orc & Orc is the generate Luvah"
from America : A prophecy
Monday, August 8, 2011
Aigner Fritz(1930-2005)...the madness of a pregnant woman ..prints...
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Friday, July 22, 2011
Karel Valter (1909- 2006).... Faun
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Saturday, June 4, 2011
W Blecher... print ...1967
click on image to enlarge
The Albatross
Often, to amuse themselves, the men of the crew
Catch those great birds of the seas, the albatrosses,
lazy companions of the voyage, who follow
The ship that slips through bitter gulfs.
Catch those great birds of the seas, the albatrosses,
lazy companions of the voyage, who follow
The ship that slips through bitter gulfs.
Hardly have they put them on the deck,
Than these kings of the skies, awkward and ashamed,
Piteously let their great white wings
Draggle like oars beside them.
Than these kings of the skies, awkward and ashamed,
Piteously let their great white wings
Draggle like oars beside them.
This winged traveler, how weak he becomes and slack!
He who of late was so beautiful, how comical and ugly!
Someone teases his beak with a branding iron,
Another mimics, limping, the crippled flyer!
He who of late was so beautiful, how comical and ugly!
Someone teases his beak with a branding iron,
Another mimics, limping, the crippled flyer!
The Poet is like the prince of the clouds,
Haunting the tempest and laughing at the archer;
Exiled on earth amongst the shouting people,
His giant's wings hinder him from walking.
Haunting the tempest and laughing at the archer;
Exiled on earth amongst the shouting people,
His giant's wings hinder him from walking.
Flowers of Evil - Charles Baudelaire 1857
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