View allAll Photos Tagged portraitdrawing
My first post in this format. Hope you like it.
© All rights reserved, don´t use this image without my permission. Contact me at debmalya86@gmail.com
Art Spectrum Pastels on Pastelmat paper
www.flickr.com/groups/portraitparty/discuss/7215762547387...
With charcoal and sticks...
© All rights reserved, don´t use this image without my permission. Contact me at debmalya86@gmail.com
“Jar - Riva Lehrer”, 2022, graphite and ink on a 28.5” x 40” Schoellerhammer drawing board.
A drawing of my dear friend (artist, author and activist) Riva Lehrer . Read her marvelous book Golem Girl.
Perhaps of interest: One well known art historical precedent including a bell jar is Joseph Wright of Derby's painting "An Experiment on a Bird in the Air Pump"
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/An_Experiment_on_a_Bird_in_the_Air_...
From my current Voice & Site drawing project.
Pastels on Art Spectrum Colourfix Suede Paper
www.flickr.com/groups/portraitparty/discuss/7215762501561...
Soft Pastels on pastelmat paper; Sunday afternoon sketching
www.flickr.com/groups/portraitparty/discuss/7215763127018...
Half the year is behind us... and she is desperately hoping for some good news to come her way !
With charcoal sticks and pencils.
© All rights reserved, don´t use this image without my permission. Contact me at debmalya86@gmail.com
And not necessarily pleasant ones :-(
Charcoal sticks and pencils.
© All rights reserved, don´t use this image without my permission. Contact me at debmalya86@gmail.com
Black and white charcoal and pastel on almost-black Art Spectrum Colourfix Suede paper
www.flickr.com/groups/portraitparty/discuss/7215762360773...
© All rights reserved, don´t use this image without my permission. Contact me at debmalya86@gmail.com
I know it's boring... but we are at war. So cut out that excuse, put on your work pants, shine your boots, tighten your belt and stay in your room !
Graphite on paper...
© All rights reserved, don´t use this image without my permission. Contact me at debmalya86@gmail.com
Attempting portrait for the first time with only charcoal sticks... No pencil ! Quite happy with the result ! Feedback please :-)
© All rights reserved, don´t use this image without my permission. Contact me at debmalya86@gmail.com
find someone at last someone find you at last live together glued together love each other a little without being loved be loved a little without loving answer that leave it vague leave it dark
all I hear leave out more leave out all hear no more lie there in my arms the ancient without end me we're talking of me without end that buries all mankind to the last cunt they'd be good moments in the dark the mud hearing nothing saying nothing capable of nothing nothing
way off on the right in the mud the hand opens and closes that helps me it's going let it go I realize I'm still smiling there's no sense in that now been none for a long time now
but in that reality we are one and all from the unthinkable first to the no less unthinkable last glued together in a vast imbrication of flesh without breach or fissure
Samuel Beckett
Nicol Williamson Reads from Samuel Beckett, HOW IT IS (1964)
Charcoal studies on paper based on Nasos Karabelas photography:
Charcoal sticks and pencils this time. Finally enjoying or rather understanding the potential of charcoal sticks !!!
© All rights reserved, don´t use this image without my permission. Contact me at debmalya86@gmail.com
#portrait #portraitphotography #portraits #portraitmood #portraitPage #portraiture #portraitphotographer #portraitoftheday #portraitgames #portraitvision #portraitmode #portraitart #portraitdrawing #portraitfestival #portraitsociety #portraitsmag #portraitstream #portraitshoot #portraitpainting #portraitsfromtheworld #portraitphoto #portraitcollective #portraittattoo #portraitsNYC #portraitcentral #portraitkillers #portraitfolk #portraitartist #portraitlove #portraitmodel
© All rights reserved, don´t use this image without my permission. Contact me at debmalya86@gmail.com
Today, suddenly, I reached an absurd but unerring conclusion. In a moment of enlightenment, I realized that I'm nobody, absolutely nobody. When the lightning flashed, I saw that what I had thought to be a city was in fact a deserted plain and, in the same sinister light that revealed me to myself, there seemed to be no sky above it. I was robbed of any possibility of having existed before the world. If I was ever reincarnated, I must have done so without myself, without a self to reincarnate.
I am the outskirts of some non-existent town, the long-winded prologue to an unwritten book. I'm nobody, nobody. I don't know how to feel or think or love. I'm a character in a novel as yet unwritten, hovering in the air and undone before I've even existed, amongst the dreams of someone who never quite managed to breathe life into me.
I'm always thinking, always feeling, but my thoughts lack all reason, my emotions all feeling. I'm falling through a trapdoor, through infinite, infinitous space, in a directionless, empty fall. My soul is a black maelstrom, a great madness spinning about a vacuum, the swirling of a vast ocean around a hole in the void, and in the waters, more like whirlwinds than waters, float images of all I ever saw or heard in the world: houses, faces, books, boxes, snatches of music and fragments of voices, all caught up in a sinister, bottomless whirlpool.
And I, I myself, am the centre that exists only because the geometry of the abyss demands it; I am the nothing around which all this spins, I exist so that it can spin, I am a centre that exists only because every circle has one. I, I myself, am the well in which the walls have fallen away to leave only viscous slime. I am the centre of everything surrounded by the great nothing.
And it is as if hell itself were laughing within me but, instead of the human touch of diabolical laughter, there's the mad croak of the dead universe, the circling cadaver of physical space, the end of all worlds drifting blackly in the wind, misshapen, anachronistic, without the God who created it, without God himself who spins in the dark of darks, impossible, unique, everything.
If only I could think! If only I could feel!
Fernando Pessoa
Chaconne in F minor, P.43 Pachelbel, Johann
Charcoal drawing, 2021