John Everett Millais - The Martyr of the Solway (1871)

(via artisticbent)



(via kerosack)

Amanda Palmer // The Killing Type

"Every now and then when your life gets complicated and the weasels start closing in, the only real cure is to load up on heinous chemicals and then drive like a bastard from Hollywood to Las Vegas."

- H.S.T


Documentation of live performance 2012

#emma lloyd  #art  

Sarah Todino performs at LWP Performance Art that Bites

Photography by Heather Forknell

La fiancée hésitante (The hesitant betrothed) , 1866

Auguste Toulmouche

Collar cut from Ehsan Gill - Cut thrice 28.06.14

Given as gift during ‘Mater Dolorosa’ 28.06.14


Death of a Son

Something has ceased to come along with me.

Something like a person: something very like one.
And there was no nobility in it
Or anything like that.

Something there was like a one year
Old house, dumb as stone. While the near buildings
Sang like birds and laughed
Understanding the pact

They were to have with silence. But he
Neither sang nor laughed. He did not bless silence
Like bread, with words.
He did not forsake silence.

But rather, like a house in mourning
Kept the eye turned in to watch the silence while
The other houses like birds
Sang around him.

And the breathing silence neither
Moved nor was still.

I have seen stones: I have seen brick
But this house was made up of neither bricks nor stone
But a house of flesh and blood
With flesh of stone

And bricks for blood. A house
Of stones and blood in breathing silence with the other
Birds singing crazy on its chimneys.
But this was silence,

This was something else, this was
Hearing and speaking though he was a house drawn
Into silence, this was
Something religious in his silence,

Something shining in his quiet,
This was different this was altogether something else:
Though he never spoke, this
Was something to do with death.

And then slowly the eye stopped looking
Inward. The silence rose and became still.
The look turned to the outer place and stopped,
With the birds still shrilling around him.
And as if he could speak

He turned over on his side with his one year
Red as a wound
He turned over as if he could be sorry for this
And out of his eyes two great tears rolled like stones,
                and he died.

Jon Silkin


FATIGUE (2013) Acryl auf Leinwand, 70 x 50 cm

"Can the human heart refrain
From partaking in her pain,
In that Mother’s pain untold?

Bruis’d, derided, curs’d, defil’d,
She beheld her tender child
All with bloody scourges rent.”

~ Stabat Mater, Catholic hymn

INSECT BITES // 23.06.14


I kinda like that… comfort the disturbed!