About Eclipse Theme

What I like. My work is at www.firethornstudio.com.

artexpert:

La mariée à double face (The bride with two faces) (1927) - Marc Chagall

artexpert:

La mariée à double face (The bride with two faces) (1927) - Marc Chagall

(via kondorkanky)

Source: artexpert
questcequecestqueca:

Gustav Klimt - The Music (1895) 

questcequecestqueca:

Gustav Klimt - The Music (1895) 

(via kondorkanky)

Source: enyaocean
blastedheath:

Kalman Kemeny (British, born Hungary, 1896-1994), Quentin Crisp. Oil on board, 19½ x 14 in.

blastedheath:

Kalman Kemeny (British, born Hungary, 1896-1994), Quentin Crisp. Oil on board, 19½ x 14 in.

(via kondorkanky)

Source: blastedheath

(via kondorkanky)

Source: womenandbooks
epicreads:

reelbrains:

beyoursledgehammer:

Sabriel by Margot Wood

In the early 1990s, Garth Nix went to a flea market in Sydney, Australia and looked through a box of old, early 1900s photographs that were being sold for a dollar a piece. As he flipped through the photos he came across a photograph of a young woman in a military style coat wearing a belt made out of bells and holding a sword. He studied the photo, wondering who this mysterious woman was. He purchased the photo, took it home and promptly wrote the draft for his young adult high-fantasy novel, Sabriel. THIS DID NOT ACTUALLY HAPPEN. But what if it did? And that, my beautiful friends, is the idea behind this fauxto. I wanted to do something different for my Young Adults fauxto series. I’ve recently been doing character portraits and knew I wanted to do one for Sabriel, but to give it a twist, I wanted to take a fauxto of a real person that would serve as the inspiration for the fictional character. Does that make any sense? Basically, in my imagination, Garth Nix based Sabriel off a real person and I wanted to explore what that woman would look like and voila, you have the image before you.

(Please do not remove credit/description)

My friend Margot (The Real Fauxtographer) has an amazing series where she interprets YA novels into these wonderful, wonderful photos (see also, her Code Name Verity photo, and her photo for Shadow and Bone - amazing).
I had the privilege of sitting for her on her Sabriel photo. Personal bias aside, this is a pretty special photo to me because Sabriel is one of my absolute favorite books ever, and she’s a heroine near and dear to my heart.
When Margot first approached me about this portrait, I shared with her that a lot of readers may disagree with her interpretation because Sabriel is interpreted as white (I mean, it’s pretty canon). Her response -  “you’re pale, you have dark hair, you’re Sabriel” - while simple, is gratifying and validating to me. Not a lot of people would be flexible to the idea of having a POC pose as a traditionally white heroine, making this doubly special, and even more awesome.
View the rest of Margot’s wonderful fauxtos here, and give her a shout on Twitter, will you? She’s pretty funny.

Interesting conversation happening about Sabriel’s race here. Wonder what Garth Nix would say. 

epicreads:

reelbrains:

beyoursledgehammer:

Sabriel by Margot Wood

In the early 1990s, Garth Nix went to a flea market in Sydney, Australia and looked through a box of old, early 1900s photographs that were being sold for a dollar a piece. As he flipped through the photos he came across a photograph of a young woman in a military style coat wearing a belt made out of bells and holding a sword. He studied the photo, wondering who this mysterious woman was. He purchased the photo, took it home and promptly wrote the draft for his young adult high-fantasy novel, Sabriel

THIS DID NOT ACTUALLY HAPPEN. But what if it did? And that, my beautiful friends, is the idea behind this fauxto. 

I wanted to do something different for my Young Adults fauxto series. I’ve recently been doing character portraits and knew I wanted to do one for Sabriel, but to give it a twist, I wanted to take a fauxto of a real person that would serve as the inspiration for the fictional character. Does that make any sense? 

Basically, in my imagination, Garth Nix based Sabriel off a real person and I wanted to explore what that woman would look like and voila, you have the image before you.

(Please do not remove credit/description)

My friend Margot (The Real Fauxtographer) has an amazing series where she interprets YA novels into these wonderful, wonderful photos (see also, her Code Name Verity photo, and her photo for Shadow and Bone - amazing).

I had the privilege of sitting for her on her Sabriel photo. Personal bias aside, this is a pretty special photo to me because Sabriel is one of my absolute favorite books ever, and she’s a heroine near and dear to my heart.

When Margot first approached me about this portrait, I shared with her that a lot of readers may disagree with her interpretation because Sabriel is interpreted as white (I mean, it’s pretty canon). Her response -  “you’re pale, you have dark hair, you’re Sabriel” - while simple, is gratifying and validating to me. Not a lot of people would be flexible to the idea of having a POC pose as a traditionally white heroine, making this doubly special, and even more awesome.

View the rest of Margot’s wonderful fauxtos here, and give her a shout on Twitter, will you? She’s pretty funny.

Interesting conversation happening about Sabriel’s race here. Wonder what Garth Nix would say. 

Source: beyoursledgehammer
workman:

thirdorgan:
Lettorio Calapai (America, 1902–1993)
Circus I (Acrobats), from the suite “Circus” 1950

workman:

thirdorgan:

Lettorio Calapai (America, 1902–1993)

Circus I (Acrobats), from the suite “Circus” 1950

Source: mobius.wellesley.edu
terriwindling:

Mice by Beatrix Potter, H.S. Owen, Iain McCaig, and Lisbeth Zwerger. More mouse pictures here.
terriwindling:

Mice by Beatrix Potter, H.S. Owen, Iain McCaig, and Lisbeth Zwerger. More mouse pictures here.
terriwindling:

Mice by Beatrix Potter, H.S. Owen, Iain McCaig, and Lisbeth Zwerger. More mouse pictures here.
terriwindling:

Mice by Beatrix Potter, H.S. Owen, Iain McCaig, and Lisbeth Zwerger. More mouse pictures here.
terriwindling:

Mice by Beatrix Potter, H.S. Owen, Iain McCaig, and Lisbeth Zwerger. More mouse pictures here.

terriwindling:

Mice by Beatrix Potter, H.S. Owen, Iain McCaig, and Lisbeth Zwerger. More mouse pictures here.

(via ellenkushner)

Source: terriwindling
oldpainting:

Zdzisław Beksiński, Loup, 2003 on Flickr.

Click image for 706 x 1024 size.https://www.flickr.com/photos/gatochy/387223110/in/set-72157594448530125/
Source: oldpainting
cinoh:

animus-inviolabilis:
Aphrodite riding a goose (detail) white ground bowl
circa 480 BC, found in Kameiros (Rhodes)Pistoxenos painter

cinoh:

animus-inviolabilis:

Aphrodite riding a goose (detail) white ground bowl


circa 480 BC, found in Kameiros (Rhodes)

Pistoxenos painter

(via leradr)

Source: animus-inviolabilis
There are books that one reads over and over again, books that become part of the furniture of one’s mind and alter one’s whole attitude to life, books that one dips into but never reads through, books that one reads at a single sitting and forgets a week later.
— George Orwell (via darksilenceinsuburbia)

(via darksilenceinsuburbia)

Source: vintageanchorbooks
3liza:

Detail of “Pan”1898Sydney Long (Australian)

3liza:

Detail of “Pan”
1898
Sydney Long (Australian)

(via 2headedsnake)

Source: mererecorder
dreamymoonlove:

"The Little Witch."
Elves & Fairies, 1916.
Ida Rentoul Outhwaite.

dreamymoonlove:

"The Little Witch."

Elves & Fairies, 1916.

Ida Rentoul Outhwaite.

(via flyingcrazylegs)

Source: starswaterairdirt

question, my muse

subtextures:

if you knew

I wrote poems
to you
as I have
for years
would you take me
to your bed
and let me
sing my songs
to you
throughout the night
or would you
laugh
at my lines
and walk away
without so much
as a quick goodbye
(from a work in progress: “Arcana,” IIcups, March 15, 2014)
Source: layeredwords.blogspot.com

Yoshitaka Amano Tarot Cards Minor Arcana, KNIGHT of WANDS

Yoshitaka Amano Tarot Cards Minor Arcana, KNIGHT of WANDS

(via amano-artwork)

Source: cerenei
blakegopnik:

THE DAILY PIC:  I came across this Warhol portrait of Robert Rauschenberg the other week in Andrea Caratsch’s gallery in Zurich. I was shocked to find that one of the most significant works of the 20th century was selling for less than $2 million – maybe five per cent of what less important, later Warhols can fetch. Last I checked, it still had not been bought. (Caratsch wouldn’t take my Sam’s Club card.)
Made in 1962, this is, as far as I can tell, the earliest portrait of a living sitter in Warhol’s mature career, and one of his very earliest silkscreens. (I don’t count his movie-star images as portraits: They are closer to Rembrandt’s “heads” of Aristotle or Jesus.) That means this work is a first experiment in the genre that filled the final two-thirds of Warhol’s career.
The 1962 portrait features one of the cutting-edge artists that Warhol was most keen on emulating, and whose friendship he had only just managed to win. Average museumgoers, and even experts, don’t always realize how deeply committed Warhol was to the classic, egghead avant-garde, and how deeply immersed he was in it at this point in his career; this portrait stands as his declaration of that commitment. It also comes at just the moment when Warhol was able to turn the tables on Rauschenberg, by offering to help his elder learn the new photo-silkscreen technique. (Although the tale’s also told that Rauschenberg taught him.)
Rauschenberg was also some kind of model for Warhol of what it was to be a successful gay artist, even if he had once rejected Warhol as too “swish” for his tastes. I think you can read Rauschenberg’s un-swish-ness from the way Warhol depicts him here, in an image that has none of the camp playfulness of Warhol’s Pop works from this era. Drowning in a deep-blue sea, Rauschenberg has stronger echoes in this portrait of his own Black Paintings, or of Warhol’s later “Disasters”, than of Warhol’s “Troy Donohue” or “Marilyn” silkscreens. You could almost read this dour, barely-there portrait as being in mourning for, or at least a token of, Rauschenberg’s closeted life. With its figure small and lost, gazing up into the heavens, this is one of the most wistful images Warhol ever made. All that blackness, and the filmic stutters running down the surface of the work, remind me most of Warhol’s dark and cryptic “Shadow” silkscreens from 1978.
The painting also comes close to being a direct quote from the all-blue monochromes of Yves Klein. Warhol cannot have missed the Frenchman’s 1961 New York show with Leo Castelli, who became Warhol’s own dealer not long after.  (A couple of years later, Warhol was asking a lover, the art historian Robert Pincus-Witten, to tell him what Klein was like.) Klein is one of the few artists of this era who can rival Warhol for his mix of brainy profundity and absurdist play, and this portrait almost proves the connection. Within a year or two, Warhol was including Kleinian monochromes in his silkscreened diptychs; this earlier “Rauschenberg” can almost be thought of as a collapsed diptych, with a silkscreen portrait sandwiched on top of a blue monochrome. Which means there’s also cancelling-out going on – a deliberate attempt to make a portrait that conceals more than it shows. Warhol may have admired and envied Bob Rauschenberg, but more than anything he wanted to cast the shadow of his own art over his new friend’s. This darkling portrait casts that shadow, symbolically, before Warhol had made a whole lot of art that could actually outshine Rauschenberg’s. (Image courtesy Andrea Caratsch, © The Andy Warhol Foundation for the Visual Arts, Inc.)
The Daily Pic also appears at blogs.artinfo.com/the-daily-pic. For a full inventory of past Daily Pics visit blakegopnik.com/archive.

blakegopnik:

THE DAILY PIC:  I came across this Warhol portrait of Robert Rauschenberg the other week in Andrea Caratsch’s gallery in Zurich. I was shocked to find that one of the most significant works of the 20th century was selling for less than $2 million – maybe five per cent of what less important, later Warhols can fetch. Last I checked, it still had not been bought. (Caratsch wouldn’t take my Sam’s Club card.)

Made in 1962, this is, as far as I can tell, the earliest portrait of a living sitter in Warhol’s mature career, and one of his very earliest silkscreens. (I don’t count his movie-star images as portraits: They are closer to Rembrandt’s “heads” of Aristotle or Jesus.) That means this work is a first experiment in the genre that filled the final two-thirds of Warhol’s career.

The 1962 portrait features one of the cutting-edge artists that Warhol was most keen on emulating, and whose friendship he had only just managed to win. Average museumgoers, and even experts, don’t always realize how deeply committed Warhol was to the classic, egghead avant-garde, and how deeply immersed he was in it at this point in his career; this portrait stands as his declaration of that commitment. It also comes at just the moment when Warhol was able to turn the tables on Rauschenberg, by offering to help his elder learn the new photo-silkscreen technique. (Although the tale’s also told that Rauschenberg taught him.)

Rauschenberg was also some kind of model for Warhol of what it was to be a successful gay artist, even if he had once rejected Warhol as too “swish” for his tastes. I think you can read Rauschenberg’s un-swish-ness from the way Warhol depicts him here, in an image that has none of the camp playfulness of Warhol’s Pop works from this era. Drowning in a deep-blue sea, Rauschenberg has stronger echoes in this portrait of his own Black Paintings, or of Warhol’s later “Disasters”, than of Warhol’s “Troy Donohue” or “Marilyn” silkscreens. You could almost read this dour, barely-there portrait as being in mourning for, or at least a token of, Rauschenberg’s closeted life. With its figure small and lost, gazing up into the heavens, this is one of the most wistful images Warhol ever made. All that blackness, and the filmic stutters running down the surface of the work, remind me most of Warhol’s dark and cryptic “Shadow” silkscreens from 1978.

The painting also comes close to being a direct quote from the all-blue monochromes of Yves Klein. Warhol cannot have missed the Frenchman’s 1961 New York show with Leo Castelli, who became Warhol’s own dealer not long after.  (A couple of years later, Warhol was asking a lover, the art historian Robert Pincus-Witten, to tell him what Klein was like.) Klein is one of the few artists of this era who can rival Warhol for his mix of brainy profundity and absurdist play, and this portrait almost proves the connection. Within a year or two, Warhol was including Kleinian monochromes in his silkscreened diptychs; this earlier “Rauschenberg” can almost be thought of as a collapsed diptych, with a silkscreen portrait sandwiched on top of a blue monochrome. Which means there’s also cancelling-out going on – a deliberate attempt to make a portrait that conceals more than it shows. Warhol may have admired and envied Bob Rauschenberg, but more than anything he wanted to cast the shadow of his own art over his new friend’s. This darkling portrait casts that shadow, symbolically, before Warhol had made a whole lot of art that could actually outshine Rauschenberg’s. (Image courtesy Andrea Caratsch, © The Andy Warhol Foundation for the Visual Arts, Inc.)

The Daily Pic also appears at blogs.artinfo.com/the-daily-pic. For a full inventory of past Daily Pics visit blakegopnik.com/archive.

Source: blakegopnik