Swansong: reflection in silhouette

spray

What Lies Beneath

Short film made by Mert Alas and Marcus Piggott for Love Magazine

SwanSong

Dappled light plays chords
Swimming swirling patterns on
The skulking listless lake.
She gazes out into mystery.
Her kissless lips seek
Uncomforting rays.
She longs for what she lost far far away.
She lost because it does not exist without her loosing her freedom.
Her feet trapped in entrancement
Beating and binding
Pointing and punctuating the uncomfortable stillness.
Her jerking neck stretching out to the remaining hopeless sun.
Bare skin.
Bare skin.
Exposed to the breeze and the shadows of the crippled trees
Watching and waiting
Whispering to the muddied earth.
She longs to love or be loved.
To feel her feathered wing to be free
To be loved by something beautiful.
Her wildness catches her breath as she swirls and sways.
Her poor madness longing and lusting for touch.
She sings wailing wishes to the watery world.
The world that holds the deep dark desires
Where fished conspire to eat and gnaw at her feelings alive.
She flairs her arms as the gasp at last life.
To feel this bound up
Last fight and flight from the such strife.
The devils last whispers of temptation and fear cast spells on her senses.
Her very last tear.

Her shoes wont stop dancing an emotional death.
Her eyes wont stop streaming
Oceans silently falling
Her turning and kicking
Dancing music of sighing.
The wind in the rushes
The doom in the sky
The love that she feels
Such a burning desire.
A furnace an explosion
Her heart burning up
To die for the love
Of an ephemeral ghost.
A moment of dreaming
To dance not alone.
The drinking of truth from her spirit by God
Her swan is a symbol
A prison of life.
She sinks into deepness
The playing doesn't stop.
Her breath failing
And stopping
Not gasping for life.
She lets herself float higher and higher.
No fighting her fate as she falls darker and darker.
Her mind is the clearest
She knows what she loves
To die for this beauty
The beauty of HER love.

Painting in petals of the past

Stalk as dry as her cracking brittle bones
Scraping at the corners of the air,
Scratching the rim of the replacement vase.
The cold shiny steel sucking the stained roses red bloodless life.
Their fragile state holds time
Moves place.
The transient shadow cast on the new greying wall wavers hitting cold damp air,
Floating through dimmed window shattered plate, pane of glass,
Bladed past.
One petal remains.
Hanging on as if clinging to some purity lost in new found innocence.
White overpowered by sordid bleeding blight.
These roses are old and belong to a different me.
There is a pink to the grisly rain and these emblems need to run free.
The petals in my palm shiver on the wind as they scatter into the swirling sea.
The earth takes on a new form
Painting patters of pain that is, that are, too pretty to see.
Sinking deeper and darker the gentle flash fades away.
Waves of pleasure hit and eb and flow in new found ecstasy of my lost found mind.

Cunt of the Week: Volume IV

This time it is a watercolour

Wet Pussy

. 

Just for the record I seriously am planning on keeping this up. After all who has anything better to do than sitting at home decorating a VAG? It gives me satisfaction and that is what counts... only about another 100 to go and I will have completed the book...watch this space !

Yohji Making Waves

Photographs taken from Yohji Yamamoto's installation at the Wapping Project.

In the stillnes she quivered, 

A reflection on her loss.

She echoed a beauty across the lake

And under the moon light she sung her siren song.

To be in that moment and then gone again.

Ephemeral ghostly peace. 

Washed up...

... visit Selfridges to see "Washed up". An exhibition celebrating fashion's creative debt to the ocean.

My favourite is of course the McQueen. "Plato's Atlantis" still remains one of my favourite ever collections ( I posted the video of the show way back) and it is wonderful to see it in this setting celebrating the ocean, nature and creation.

Alexander McQueen Spring/Summer 2010

Alexander McQueen Spring/Summer 2010

The hats are also pretty outstanding :

Crystal Swimming Cap; Naomi Filmer in Collaboration with Swarovski

Philip Treacy for Lady Gaga

Plato's Atlantis (The legend) a Fashion Video directed by Nick Knight for Plato's Atlantis (shown alongside the live streaming of the show :

SO BEAUTIFUL!

Me and my CAMERA...

Film made in a couple of days whilst on residency at Trinity Buoy Wharf


Up against the wall; Down a dark alley from Elizabeth Ophelia Alice Rose on Vimeo.

Choked up

When the lights stop flickering

You are left with nothing but the howling waves and thrashing wind.
The nature is violent but it is where I belong.
Not locked up in this
Caved
Ceiling
Choking
Cell.
Prisoned.


        Prisoned.
                 Prisoned in windows and reflections.


I am locked in the droplets of water you can no longer see because they are engulfed by the storm.
Lost in cracks and crevices
In crumbling walls.
Keep walking down the tunnel.


Keep on walking.
There is NO END






This water will have you trapped.


She is not doing it on purpose but in this desolate place it is so easy to get sucked up into time.
Time that you can’t put your finger on because it goes back further than the beginning of the universe.
Start before the ancient myth began.
Poseiden didn’t exist without the sprays that she controls.
I laugh.


I laugh.


I laugh at you.


I laugh out of pity because it is all held inside her heart.
She can’t.
          I can’t even understand because the re-incarnation of her history hasn’t come into play yet.
I know something.
But not everything.

The lock on the truth is fear.


She haunts your eyes.
Her eyes haunt you.
Her eyes are haunted.


Her power is lost in her frail body.
The scream too strong.
Screaming wind is too choked up inside her chest - her limbs - her head .
Dancing. Jerking. Swaying.
Stillness.
Beat upon beat upon beat upon beat
Drum
Drum
Death
Drum.

This life is ephemeral but the truth transcendent.
In this dark room I remember the white light of the past.
Another time when she looked with different eyes.
On different things.
Different bodies.
Different minds.
Different fragile hearts.
The thing is - You want to save her.
She doesn’t need saving.

That is you.

Fountain

At the Barbican. Water as form.

The Mermaid

The mermaid
Silver vision
Ephemeral sapphire sea
Swimming in darkness she steals the world...
Fantasy?
Fiction in the eyes of the beholder
This beauty bathed in waves
She sings for eternity
No reason to doubt if you can believe
Down there in the deep she can reveal the light
Myth or madness - she has your heart
Transcend the earth and you can live
Step in to the ocean and become
Float free with these waved
Become full of current and crave love
Water whirls
Hold it in your heart
Diamond dream.

falling

Fountain

The water tumbles in joyful spasms.
            Idiosyncratic waves of reflection.
Funnel. Tap.
Not known why but this water is a world of something else.
We gather and congregate around these monuments
                  as if to fill us with a hint of the spring of
life.
Violent splashes still soothe in the mid day sun.
Green envy is not something I tend to feel,
          Especially for the emotionless...
But
This water us free,
yet freedom is constrained
as it is funnelled
    and forced
upwards then to choose its own natural form and then
          
escape the world.

Who cared for I am happy?
Circles appear before my eyes and calmness emulates.

Untitled (work in progress) A first video

A first attempt at trying to get some of what I feel down on film. A feeble attempt, with very rough footage, no technical skill whatsoever and "I-movie" is rubbish... if anyone can help me out with some better software that would be much appreciated

ghost

constallation

Nymph 3

Dripping and
dragging
Rivulets;
revolting rivers of revenge
She sees
She does not see
She knows not what this is!
Blue dreams?
Hot cold dreams?
Fires freezing minds .

Energy
Ecstasy
Endless eternal misery
Fleeting moments of love
Or just the desperation the desire the burning need
To be loved
To be loved
God
To be loved


Screaming scorching running searching
To be loved
To be loved
To be loved
Or to feel

Not the huntress
Not preying
THE PREY

Not what she seems
Not what she seems
She just needs.

Lost in eternity
Dancing with time
Everlasting life not feeding but draining every last hope

She tries
She tries
She tries to find

Black emptiness
Screaming hollow emptiness
White Blackness

No END

Love me?
Love her
No luck
No end

drip

sectioned water