Monday, May 2, 2016

Curtain Call – #1 to #5 Digital ArtWork – Dream Series

SHORT EXPLANATION: Dreams between the age of five and seven. As the first morning light filtered through the bedroom windows, in a semi daze slipping in and out of sleep, an overwhelming fear of an entity would enter my space.

Close by and ever menacingly behind and at times hovering over me, it made breathing next to impossible, so I would lay there feigning death. Then with every ounce of power for one so young and scared, I had to muster the courage to open my eyes, having told myself this would make the frightening being disappear: only for my eyes to fall upon…. the curtains.

This is when the curtains came alive with horrific battles and wars on land, sea and skies. My own horror movie. And all before breakfast!!

Curtain Call – #1 – Dream Series 
BELOW
Curtain Call – #2 – Dream Series 


Curtain Call – #3 – Dream Series 

Curtain Call – #4 – Dream Series 

 Curtain Call – #5 – Dream Series

The idea of a series titled Curtain Call regarding my dreams between the age of five and seven have now come to fruition thanks to the words of Robin Evans, (see below). First my thoughts were to do it as a series of drawings then for a change from being in the studio I challenged myself to do these as digital art pieces. It took four hours to complete both… part drawing, painting then some tweaking with digital tool called ACDSee…. a Triptych within a Diptych. May continue this series with only ONE image staying constant, the other two reflecting the dreams.
…while the body remains the central figure in the dream these fear glitches will keep happening. Leave the fray, look at the battlefield from overhead and as you do this all the ripples will flatten out, it IS as it has always been. – Robin Evans
To some, these images may appear to be dark and nightmarish for someone at that age…. hence the curtains, for so many years unavoidable.
“It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.”  ― J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone
All works created by way of software tool, ACDSee and with the help of background music by SOPOR AETERNUS & The Ensemble Of ShadowsSEE BELOW… Music Video – Sopor Aeternus The Sleeper





The Sleeper By Edgar Allan Poe
At midnight, in the month of June,
I stand beneath the mystic moon.
An opiate vapor, dewy, dim,
Exhales from out her golden rim,
And, softly dripping, drop by drop,
Upon the quiet mountain top,
Steals drowsily and musically
Into the universal valley.
The rosemary nods upon the grave;
The lily lolls upon the wave;
Wrapping the fog about its breast,
The ruin molders into rest;
Looking like Lethe, see! the lake
A conscious slumber seems to take,
And would not, for the world, awake.
All Beauty
sleeps!- and lo! where lies
Irene, with her Destinies!
O, lady bright! can it be right-
This window open to the night?
The wanton airs, from the tree-top,
Laughingly through the lattice drop-
The bodiless airs, a wizard rout,
Flit through thy chamber in and out,
And wave the curtain canopy
So fitfully- so fearfully-
Above the closed and fringed lid
‘Neath which thy slumb’ring soul lies hid,
That, o’er the floor and down the wall,
Like ghosts the shadows rise and fall!
Oh, lady dear, hast thou no fear?
Why and what art thou dreaming here?
Sure thou art come O’er far-off seas,
A wonder to these garden trees!
Strange is thy pallor! strange thy dress,
Strange, above all, thy length of tress,
And this all solemn silentness!
The lady sleeps! Oh, may her sleep,
Which is enduring, so be deep!
Heaven have her in its sacred keep!
This chamber changed for one more holy,
This bed for one more melancholy,
I pray to God that she may lie
For ever with unopened eye,
While the pale sheeted ghosts go by!
My love, she sleeps! Oh, may her sleep
As it is lasting, so be deep!
Soft may the worms about her creep!
Far in the forest, dim and old,
For her may some tall vault unfold-
Some vault that oft has flung its black
And winged panels fluttering back,
Triumphant, o’er the crested palls,
Of her grand family funerals-
Some sepulchre, remote, alone,
Against whose portal she hath thrown,
In childhood, many an idle stone-
Some tomb from out whose sounding door
She ne’er shall force an echo more,
Thrilling to think, poor child of sin!
It was the dead who groaned within.

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