It's only after you've lost everything, are you free to do anything.

Mitch Griffiths

I sometimes think that in today's art world, alot of artists have forgotten the significance of realism. I really love an artist with complete control over his or her technique above all things. It makes the artist's message so much more breathtaking.
Mitch Griffith's work talks about consumerism and capitalism in today's world in a breathtaking and iconic way. His use of colour, particularly in the last picture reminds me of the work of the Baroque painters.
The use of religious symbolism amalgamated with the 'icons' of consumerism creates a breathtaking and poignant message. His work is filled with patriotic imagery...a young woman holding on to the grubby threads of the Union Jack, her last and only solace in a world driven mad by War.

I'm excited by Grffiths because I think that we're on the same page, artistically and ideologically, and it's been a while since that has happened.



To view more of his breathtaking work, click here.

What is an adult? A child blown up by age.

Do not tell me to dream, and then tell me my dreams are unachievable.
Do not tell me I cannot do this, for I can.
You are wrong.
Your eyes are closed.
You cannot see.

If I create from the heart, nearly everything works; if from the head, almost nothing.

Photos are taken by me.

I must admit, they're not very good, and no, I'm not being modest. I'm only a few days old at handling a Nikon D90 and I need to understand it better, I think.
I should have put these up earlier, when I was feeling better.

Anyhow, I hope all of you like them.

Is there no way out of the mind?

“Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life...You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should be just friends' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love.”
- Neil Gaiman.
Writer, philosopher, cult hero, rockstar.

I would like to be the air that inhabits you for a moment only. I would like to be that unnoticed and that necessary.

“…I have this strange feeling that I’m not myself anymore. It’s hard to put into words, but I guess it’s like I was fast asleep, and someone came, disassembled me, and hurriedly put me back together again. That sort of feeling.”
- Haruki Murakami.

She glimmers of diaphanous pink,
Of frothy black lace
Latched to her willowing frame,
Silently roaming the woods.

I erased it, and then I typed it again, I erased it, and I typed it again.
I'm going to post it and sign out, before I change my mind again.

All that spirits desire, spirits attain.

With each passing day, I feel more and more sorry for myself.
This must stop.

the flesh covers the bone
and they put a mind
in there and
sometimes a soul,
and the women break
vases against the walls
and the men drink too
much
and nobody finds the
one
but keep
looking
crawling in and out
of beds.
flesh covers
the bone and the
flesh searches
for more than
flesh.

there's no chance
at all:
we are all trapped
by a singular
fate.

nobody ever finds
the one.

the city dumps fill
the junkyards fill
the madhouses fill
the hospitals fill
the graveyards fill

nothing else
fills.
- Alone With Everybody, Charles Bukowski.

I wonder if I should put my own poetry up, but it's very personal.
I don't know if I should.
There's too much of myself in them,