Black Surf © – Black & White Painting – (RIGHT) Acrylic, Ink and Liquid Wax – Acrylic on paper 73cm x 106cm - (Sold)
Hidden behind merciful shadows, beyond the cruel daylight, living to hunt and kill, we are the… damned children of the night. Dragging our immune existence through thousands of centuries and from dusk to dawn we suffer from our immortality.
“I’m the resurrection-man, who steals his own corpse and abducts himself to the beloved catacombs and vaults”.
Death and decay, cadaverous smell, for us there’s neither heaven, nor is there a hell, and only the stigmata could be able to betray the sombre existence of the former days.
After the dead Lover’s kiss you fall into a dream, but with your second birth you’re a prince in our mournful realm. By day, when a million suns are killing with their shine, the cold, dark crypts are saving me … and mine.
Death and decay, cadaverous smell, for us there’s neither heaven, nor is there a hell, and only the stigmata could be able to betray the sombre existence of the former days …
Even a happy life cannot be without a measure of darkness, and the word happy would lose its meaning if it were not balanced by sadness. It is far better take things as they come along with patience and *equanimity. – Carl Jung*Equanimity (Latin: æquanimitas having an even mind; aequus even animus mind/soul) is a state of psychological stability and composure which is undisturbed by experience of or exposure to emotions, pain, or other phenomena that may cause others to lose the balance of their mind.
The Sadness of the Moon/Sorrow of the Moon
More drowsy dreams the moon tonight. She rests
Like a proud beauty on heaped cushions pressing,
With light and absent-minded touch caressing,
Before she sleeps, the contour of her breasts.
On satin-shimmering, downy avalanches
She dies from swoon to swoon in languid change,
And lets her eyes on snowy visions range
That in the azure rise like flowering branches.
When sometimes to this earth her languor calm
Lets streak a stealthy tear, a pious poet,
The enemy of sleep, in his cupped palm,
Takes this pale tear, of liquid opal spun
With rainbow lights, deep in his heart to stow it
Far from the staring eyeballs of the Sun.
— Roy Campbell, Poems of Baudelaire (New York: Pantheon Books, 1952)
Charles Baudelaire – Fleurs du mal / Flowers of Evil / The Sadness of the Moon (Tristesse de la Lune)
The End of The Day (Black Surf)
In the waning deathpale daylight,
Convulsive Life runs, dances without reason,Blatant and brawling, shrill with spite.
As soon as over the horizonNight, voluptuous and vast,
Arises, making hunger tame,
Hiding all things, even shame,
The Poet to himself: “At last!
My spirit and my jaded spine
Plead hungrily for rest. I’ll go,
With dreams darkening my mind,
And lie full length upon my back,
O cooling curtains of deep shadow,
And roll and wrap me in your black.”
Charles Baudelaire – Fleurs du mal / Flowers of Evil / The End of The Day