sanguise
Jasmine
Omnia Mutantur, Nihil Interit
Randolph dipped his brush into a little water-filled vinegar jar, and tendrils of purple spread like some fast-growing vine.
'Don't smile, my dear,' he said, 'I'm not a photographer. On the other hand, I could scarcely be called an artist; not, that is, if you define as one who sees, takes and purely transmits: always for me there is the problem of distortion, and I never paint so much what I see as what I think: for example, some years ago, this was in Berlin, I drew a boy not much older than yourself, and yet in my picture he looked more aged than Jesus Fever, and whereas in reality his eyes where childhood blue, the eyes I saw were bleary and lost. And what I saw was indeed the truth, for little Kurt, that was his name, turned out to be a perfect horror, and tried twice to murder me... exhibiting both times, I must say, admirable ingenuity. Poor child, I wonder whatever became of him... or, for that matter, me. Now that is a most interesting question: whatever became of me?' As if to punctuate his sentences he kept, all the while he talked, thrusting the brush inside the jar, and the water, continually darkening, had at its centre, like a hidden flower, a rope of red. 'Very well, sit back, we'll relax a minute now.'
http://undervatten.tumblr.com
"Lycka till, och tro mig, käraste Doc - det är bättre att stirra upp mot himlen än att vara där. Så tomt, så dimmigt där uppe. Bara ett ställe där åskan går och saker försvinner."
Randolph dipped his brush into a little water-filled vinegar jar, and tendrils of purple spread like some fast-growing vine.
'Don't smile, my dear,' he said, 'I'm not a photographer. On the other hand, I could scarcely be called an artist; not, that is, if you define as one who sees, takes and purely transmits: always for me there is the problem of distortion, and I never paint so much what I see as what I think: for example, some years ago, this was in Berlin, I drew a boy not much older than yourself, and yet in my picture he looked more aged than Jesus Fever, and whereas in reality his eyes where childhood blue, the eyes I saw were bleary and lost. And what I saw was indeed the truth, for little Kurt, that was his name, turned out to be a perfect horror, and tried twice to murder me... exhibiting both times, I must say, admirable ingenuity. Poor child, I wonder whatever became of him... or, for that matter, me. Now that is a most interesting question: whatever became of me?' As if to punctuate his sentences he kept, all the while he talked, thrusting the brush inside the jar, and the water, continually darkening, had at its centre, like a hidden flower, a rope of red. 'Very well, sit back, we'll relax a minute now.'
http://undervatten.tumblr.com
"Lycka till, och tro mig, käraste Doc - det är bättre att stirra upp mot himlen än att vara där. Så tomt, så dimmigt där uppe. Bara ett ställe där åskan går och saker försvinner."
Image position
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