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Buck Trick: the Creatives
Shattered Man:
We live in a world, now, of seemingly endless broken word and false promise. The search for 'rights' and 'belief' and 'consciousness' are held under assault on a momentary basis. Even among 'friends' we wonder if they are only 'acquaintances', and we withhold our ideals of a more united foundation as to race, religion, political, and even morality in that we feel our basic thoughts will break apart any semblance of civility.
The rise of 'Shattered Man' is a representation of all man and woman; and one's longing to find a Common Ground for humanity to exist within.
Knowing co-operation has become a shattered byproduct of a disinformation age where no one is held accountable for their thoughts, and the pressure to defend becomes overwhelming.
The rise of 'Shattered Man' is a representation of all man and woman; and one's longing to find a Common Ground for humanity to exist within.
Knowing co-operation has become a shattered byproduct of a disinformation age where no one is held accountable for their thoughts, and the pressure to defend becomes overwhelming.
Valley In Falls:
It's breadth Asian in influence.
The chromium water falling deep within and away.
The Blossom Tree listening to the orchestra in quiet repose.
When I saw this, I suppose i did as well.
The chromium water falling deep within and away.
The Blossom Tree listening to the orchestra in quiet repose.
When I saw this, I suppose i did as well.
The Angelus Rise:
In the mid 1800’s Jean-Francois Millet completed the original titled masterpiece, ‘the Angelus’. As it was first presented to the public, it was described as a farming couple giving grace for the new harvest bestowed upon them.
But this was not as Millet had originally designed.
Salvador Dali said that, as a child he became ‘obsessed’ with the work. He’d said the haunting appearance and somber palette left him feeling much different than the ‘public’ explanation.
In this, Dali had been moved to create several of his own interpretations, most with the Woman standing tall and dominant over her husband, Dali explaining he felt of her as a ‘praying mantis’ waiting to devour her mate.
Much later in life and due to his prominence, Dali was able to commission the original masterpiece X-rayed. Scanning the weave basket of potato resting at the feet of the couple, an infants coffin buried beneath. Originally, Millet had depicted what so often the case of that time. Mortality.
As to the interpretation here, it is more influenced by Dali than Millet. For, with Dali having an instinct toward the Millet work, I felt he missed the true Heart of what was originally experienced from it.
Death, and it’s hopeful Rise into Heaven.
To this, I wished to show the child, no longer in passing, but now in resurrection.
The couple I’ve placed far apart and slight of stature; the somber bounty between them invisible within it’s height to them, leaving them in mournful minds.
The basket weave of potatoes Millet had placed atop the coffin, now incorporated into the child’s lower body, swaddling it.
The surrounding fields a tumult of emotion;
the sky’s tormented with the clangor of the distant Church bells,
the once Child, now with the power of the Rise to Heaven.
But this was not as Millet had originally designed.
Salvador Dali said that, as a child he became ‘obsessed’ with the work. He’d said the haunting appearance and somber palette left him feeling much different than the ‘public’ explanation.
In this, Dali had been moved to create several of his own interpretations, most with the Woman standing tall and dominant over her husband, Dali explaining he felt of her as a ‘praying mantis’ waiting to devour her mate.
Much later in life and due to his prominence, Dali was able to commission the original masterpiece X-rayed. Scanning the weave basket of potato resting at the feet of the couple, an infants coffin buried beneath. Originally, Millet had depicted what so often the case of that time. Mortality.
As to the interpretation here, it is more influenced by Dali than Millet. For, with Dali having an instinct toward the Millet work, I felt he missed the true Heart of what was originally experienced from it.
Death, and it’s hopeful Rise into Heaven.
To this, I wished to show the child, no longer in passing, but now in resurrection.
The couple I’ve placed far apart and slight of stature; the somber bounty between them invisible within it’s height to them, leaving them in mournful minds.
The basket weave of potatoes Millet had placed atop the coffin, now incorporated into the child’s lower body, swaddling it.
The surrounding fields a tumult of emotion;
the sky’s tormented with the clangor of the distant Church bells,
the once Child, now with the power of the Rise to Heaven.
Colliding ideals:
Lava rock shatter the uniform geometry of the Sea. The Blue hues exploding into salten air. The first set of waves break combative in front of the viewer. Even in nature the way forward holds resistance; Ideas will become amalgamation even if aggressively.
The Horizon line distanced is vague and marred, only eludes to a phantom symmetry of the future, in what is now being borne within now.
The two Center peace (sic) waves are the Yin & Yang of what is, or will be. Complementary principles of opposing thought.
Growing together can be aggressive, yet it need not be the violence we make it.
The Horizon line distanced is vague and marred, only eludes to a phantom symmetry of the future, in what is now being borne within now.
The two Center peace (sic) waves are the Yin & Yang of what is, or will be. Complementary principles of opposing thought.
Growing together can be aggressive, yet it need not be the violence we make it.
Dissipation City -
A city coming into it's ether sphere. I don't know if it's 'rising' into, or 'fading' from itself. I guess I'll just hold and see.
For now, however, the piece is representational of some kind of work through Morpheus (the Greek god of dreams). Foundations and Civilizations are built on the dreams of man, and they are shattered from the same.
The future will tell us how these dreams play out.
For now, however, the piece is representational of some kind of work through Morpheus (the Greek god of dreams). Foundations and Civilizations are built on the dreams of man, and they are shattered from the same.
The future will tell us how these dreams play out.
A Crucifixion Day - All Rise
...the braided whips lash harmoniously at his body with hisses and whistles and cries of joy.
Thick metal spikes ring like chimes as they’re driven thru his limbs into the mantle of the timbers.
The wood that held him groaned, and moaned, -- heavy in tone when lifted high to then settle into the borne chalice hole.
His tendons sang and stretched and popped in crescendoing chorus as they released from bone.
Blood, opaque and slight of him, from him, married to earth.
His final voice a simple song, .... ‘they know not what they do’.
Thick metal spikes ring like chimes as they’re driven thru his limbs into the mantle of the timbers.
The wood that held him groaned, and moaned, -- heavy in tone when lifted high to then settle into the borne chalice hole.
His tendons sang and stretched and popped in crescendoing chorus as they released from bone.
Blood, opaque and slight of him, from him, married to earth.
His final voice a simple song, .... ‘they know not what they do’.
'Of Achilles, at the Sun mantle of his mother Thetis beyond the river Styx'
...from the myth we mortals tell,
the goddess Thetis, lifting Hand high to bath her only son Achilles within the sacred ambrosia oils to then thrust him into the ceaseless Sun’s flames - burning lifelessness into Achilles’ mortality,
...or perhaps, ...
... a Baptismal She endowed upon him within the guardian River Styx that swept apart the Living from the Dead.
Of either mythology
Thetis left only one imminent weakness,
Achilles’ eternal survival imbued to the service of a dominant vulnerability.
Clutched by the Hand of Thetis’ Love, his ankle firmly concealed from the gift of Deathlessness ...
In this work, we see Achilles' view from his birth - or into his death,
looking out to the Hearth of the Sun across the river Styx
as the many Souls of his labors gaze mortally on - and away.
Lost souls in search of a guidance or remediation.
the goddess Thetis, lifting Hand high to bath her only son Achilles within the sacred ambrosia oils to then thrust him into the ceaseless Sun’s flames - burning lifelessness into Achilles’ mortality,
...or perhaps, ...
... a Baptismal She endowed upon him within the guardian River Styx that swept apart the Living from the Dead.
Of either mythology
Thetis left only one imminent weakness,
Achilles’ eternal survival imbued to the service of a dominant vulnerability.
Clutched by the Hand of Thetis’ Love, his ankle firmly concealed from the gift of Deathlessness ...
In this work, we see Achilles' view from his birth - or into his death,
looking out to the Hearth of the Sun across the river Styx
as the many Souls of his labors gaze mortally on - and away.
Lost souls in search of a guidance or remediation.
Isle of the Dead:
... originally a Master Work by Swiss artist Arnold Bocklin in the late 1800's. A total of Six were completed. At one time the image was the most popular art work in the world.
Hitler owned an original.
Another held in Saint Petersburg, Russia.
Dictator Vladimir Lenin hung a copy above his bed.
Freud had a reproduction commissioned for his office.
Contemporary artists such as Giger, Fabrizio Clerici and Dali, would produce their own versions, and many of our greatest films have used some kind of the Island’s likeness in their movies.
All I knew upon first seeing an image of the 1880 ‘Basel’ version was that it forced me in. A kind of black hole for the mind. - Maybe haunted at it’s edges.
In this version I've emphasized the vastness of 'Death' in that it would penetrate the viewer, immersing them into the openness, as well as the confines, of what I'd feel death is. The Sepulcher like buildings to either side seeming to wall us in as we ‘enter’ the lagoon. Vast space of ritual confinement, but then set free above it.
At the Center of the Canvas, at the Alter, begins the ‘climb into Cyprus’; the spirit on it’s homeward journey, the Cyprus trees signifying life eternal as they spiral upward into alighted skies.
The colors chosen were a preferred palette; earthen tones and burns.
Not withstanding the subject matter, these colors were exceptionally well suited for the work, both in how they resonated from one another, as well in how they would represent Earth's body in which we all shall return.
Hitler owned an original.
Another held in Saint Petersburg, Russia.
Dictator Vladimir Lenin hung a copy above his bed.
Freud had a reproduction commissioned for his office.
Contemporary artists such as Giger, Fabrizio Clerici and Dali, would produce their own versions, and many of our greatest films have used some kind of the Island’s likeness in their movies.
All I knew upon first seeing an image of the 1880 ‘Basel’ version was that it forced me in. A kind of black hole for the mind. - Maybe haunted at it’s edges.
In this version I've emphasized the vastness of 'Death' in that it would penetrate the viewer, immersing them into the openness, as well as the confines, of what I'd feel death is. The Sepulcher like buildings to either side seeming to wall us in as we ‘enter’ the lagoon. Vast space of ritual confinement, but then set free above it.
At the Center of the Canvas, at the Alter, begins the ‘climb into Cyprus’; the spirit on it’s homeward journey, the Cyprus trees signifying life eternal as they spiral upward into alighted skies.
The colors chosen were a preferred palette; earthen tones and burns.
Not withstanding the subject matter, these colors were exceptionally well suited for the work, both in how they resonated from one another, as well in how they would represent Earth's body in which we all shall return.
Locust / Leaves
the Earth is changing.
- In reality We are changing the Earth.
Yet do we not remember key moments thru our life in outwardly ways? External incidents mark anguish or joy? Passage of timestamp asto ‘before’, or ‘after’.
We are setting New markers now, so many we will loose track of.
many Lands, with hellion, bleach.
Others flood in violent ways.
Locust will come. Leaves will scream.
What stays, will lay bare. What leaves, will strip clean.
- In reality We are changing the Earth.
Yet do we not remember key moments thru our life in outwardly ways? External incidents mark anguish or joy? Passage of timestamp asto ‘before’, or ‘after’.
We are setting New markers now, so many we will loose track of.
many Lands, with hellion, bleach.
Others flood in violent ways.
Locust will come. Leaves will scream.
What stays, will lay bare. What leaves, will strip clean.
Solitary:
'Youth' and 'beauty' eternal are the ultimate desire.
While 'forgotten' and 'alone' become the fullest insufferable sin.
Somewhere in between is ‘life’.
This piece marries the two themes into one haunting image of the desires and denials of ourselves. A youthful woman with fullest lips and deepest eyes is wrapped in expensive mink, only to fade into an elderly, abandoned, woman who longs to be remembered; not just for who she was physically, but for the life she'd once experienced outwardly.
Age offers wisdom. However, being shut out, or shut in, becomes a cloud onto the mind, clouds across the
life one lived.
And youth does not chase us into the future.
- Solitary.
While 'forgotten' and 'alone' become the fullest insufferable sin.
Somewhere in between is ‘life’.
This piece marries the two themes into one haunting image of the desires and denials of ourselves. A youthful woman with fullest lips and deepest eyes is wrapped in expensive mink, only to fade into an elderly, abandoned, woman who longs to be remembered; not just for who she was physically, but for the life she'd once experienced outwardly.
Age offers wisdom. However, being shut out, or shut in, becomes a cloud onto the mind, clouds across the
life one lived.
And youth does not chase us into the future.
- Solitary.
Golden Nude:
Against a wall,
but her contemplation erases it.
I do not know what she is thinking of, but elongating thoughts reflect her. And of this, I leave too interpretation.
but her contemplation erases it.
I do not know what she is thinking of, but elongating thoughts reflect her. And of this, I leave too interpretation.
Bull Elephant:
Done in a technique to show this Bull Elephant in it’s Spiritual, or Apparition, way. The specter appearance of his conflict marred skin, his hollow eyes resonant, and his tusks iridescent.
Of note:
The battle scars run across his face and forehead in thin bronze wash; these become visible only at very distinct lighting, adding another layer of discovery and depth to the work.
Of note:
The battle scars run across his face and forehead in thin bronze wash; these become visible only at very distinct lighting, adding another layer of discovery and depth to the work.
Seen
SEEN:
An expression piece, for the artist as well as the subject.
An expression piece, for the artist as well as the subject.
Burning Man:
'burning
in my skin;
these words
they will
not heal...' ~ Chester Bennington.
“We know only what we realize we know. All the rest is reactionary influence.” ~ rlb
I've taken license with Chester Bennington’s lyrics (‘words’ from ‘wounds’) as to his writing to heal.
Expressive therapy it was referred.
And I’ll ask, who among us hasn't felt some kind of this way? Divided with emotion, wishing to lash out and rupture or drop low into a baring body to wail the onslaught of the world surrounding.
Some times there is an inability to calm the chaotic intrusion, or belay the invasive furry toward one’s self, or perhaps another.
And from this there is little solace when the cries of overwhelming pressure build into such a dislocated confusion that all things become striking blows; pulled and shoved in so many invasive directions at once.
'Who we are' becomes a very pressing ideal. And often we experience this multitude of emotion in the same instant.
This work, depicting our internal cryings; expresses some of those thoughts and ideas layering upon us in moments of great unsteadiness.
in my skin;
these words
they will
not heal...' ~ Chester Bennington.
“We know only what we realize we know. All the rest is reactionary influence.” ~ rlb
I've taken license with Chester Bennington’s lyrics (‘words’ from ‘wounds’) as to his writing to heal.
Expressive therapy it was referred.
And I’ll ask, who among us hasn't felt some kind of this way? Divided with emotion, wishing to lash out and rupture or drop low into a baring body to wail the onslaught of the world surrounding.
Some times there is an inability to calm the chaotic intrusion, or belay the invasive furry toward one’s self, or perhaps another.
And from this there is little solace when the cries of overwhelming pressure build into such a dislocated confusion that all things become striking blows; pulled and shoved in so many invasive directions at once.
'Who we are' becomes a very pressing ideal. And often we experience this multitude of emotion in the same instant.
This work, depicting our internal cryings; expresses some of those thoughts and ideas layering upon us in moments of great unsteadiness.
Untitled
Dunes: Raising Wheat
Done in distinct depths, the work was begun with a haze redden wash in the sky, swirling within and upon itself well off into the distance.
Placed toward us, the 'golden wheat field' undulate into waves as the storm’s winds advance.
The purple whips, closer still to us, in soft rotating dances within the placating breeze while the,
Emmer wheat stalks are directly onto us, as if we are sitting at their height and just in behind them, watching natures' reaction to the event.
Placed toward us, the 'golden wheat field' undulate into waves as the storm’s winds advance.
The purple whips, closer still to us, in soft rotating dances within the placating breeze while the,
Emmer wheat stalks are directly onto us, as if we are sitting at their height and just in behind them, watching natures' reaction to the event.
- Digging for Souls:
...in the finding of Dante,
The Royals mingle around the moribund, leaning upon them, encouraging them to bring to light the buried souls necessary for their escape of purgatory; of a mortal life once oozing with a lack of selfless purpose.
A Soul in the Material World merely an afterthought in a space of abundant ritual bobbles.
But in these catacombs of perdition, the Soul becoming their necessary inconvenience. The burden of a new social affair, to be dispassionately endured with cavalier, haughty laughter and the ‘pop’ of a Debutante’s sensu.
The Lessors of the previous worldly hierarchy are thrown into this realm from their sloth, their blindness, of their ignorance. And now of being dispossessed the only thing of matter.
In the upper right we see Three spirits, belonging to the Servants of the damned, slip quietly away on the wings of doves, unseen - their penance being served.
The Royals mingle around the moribund, leaning upon them, encouraging them to bring to light the buried souls necessary for their escape of purgatory; of a mortal life once oozing with a lack of selfless purpose.
A Soul in the Material World merely an afterthought in a space of abundant ritual bobbles.
But in these catacombs of perdition, the Soul becoming their necessary inconvenience. The burden of a new social affair, to be dispassionately endured with cavalier, haughty laughter and the ‘pop’ of a Debutante’s sensu.
The Lessors of the previous worldly hierarchy are thrown into this realm from their sloth, their blindness, of their ignorance. And now of being dispossessed the only thing of matter.
In the upper right we see Three spirits, belonging to the Servants of the damned, slip quietly away on the wings of doves, unseen - their penance being served.
The Triptych:
‘Thru layers of awareness’, it is said, ‘we live two lives.’
The life we live before we become aware that we’ve only one life, and then the life after.
I’ve added a third...
~In youth, awareness begins as to how we look; physical beauty, or the lack thereof.
We equate beauty in how we feel we appear, and in how we feel others appear to us.
This bears our greatest compass into adulthood, our original awakening.
‘To Look.’
‘To be Looked at.’
‘The learned art of primal judgment.’
~Thru age must come an acceptance.
‘To Look’ must now become ‘To See.’
To know the Value of self in being, not in appearing.
Physical beauty must fade from our body and our judgment. Replaced with knowledge; of our-self and of
ourself toward others.
For in that we age, we must come to grow.
‘We Seek.’
‘We Receive.’
‘Then must come to Understand.’
~With death, the apparition of, our being then bears thru others.
We, at this point, become only the scepter of what we’ve done, and the influence we’ve bestowed.
Our Image becomes a mere feeling; a being of no living flesh, rather only existing with how we had
existed before.
This apparition will hold only the same beauty as the body’s Spirit before it.
Only the same beauty that other’s beheld in it.
‘who we were then,’
‘who we are now,’
‘the Being we will become for others in our death.’
The life we live before we become aware that we’ve only one life, and then the life after.
I’ve added a third...
~In youth, awareness begins as to how we look; physical beauty, or the lack thereof.
We equate beauty in how we feel we appear, and in how we feel others appear to us.
This bears our greatest compass into adulthood, our original awakening.
‘To Look.’
‘To be Looked at.’
‘The learned art of primal judgment.’
~Thru age must come an acceptance.
‘To Look’ must now become ‘To See.’
To know the Value of self in being, not in appearing.
Physical beauty must fade from our body and our judgment. Replaced with knowledge; of our-self and of
ourself toward others.
For in that we age, we must come to grow.
‘We Seek.’
‘We Receive.’
‘Then must come to Understand.’
~With death, the apparition of, our being then bears thru others.
We, at this point, become only the scepter of what we’ve done, and the influence we’ve bestowed.
Our Image becomes a mere feeling; a being of no living flesh, rather only existing with how we had
existed before.
This apparition will hold only the same beauty as the body’s Spirit before it.
Only the same beauty that other’s beheld in it.
‘who we were then,’
‘who we are now,’
‘the Being we will become for others in our death.’
Untitled: Woman within herself
This is an Untitled work. But in the studio we call her 'the Woman within herself'. I'm not sure why.
Shining City of the hill; Salt and Light:
Spoken of as 'the shining city on the hill', this work questions that constant suggestion from our nation's mouthpieces.
The 'salt and light' that perhaps we once were, seems to be dissolving; our 'shine' now a patina of yellow green tarnish reflecting distorted in the shattering radiance.
Our unity is our only true strength; for, within us, nothing splintered stands. All things shattered fall.
This piece suggesting perhaps the Salt is dissolving, the light is fading, and the City splintering around it's paper-mache beliefs of ever lasting strength.
This not a political statement but an observational one, perhaps a philosophical one. But certainly, I feel, an accurate one.
We must find strength in common ground.
We must all propagate a unity.
Or we will splinter as consummate individuals.
The salt is melting back into the sea.
The sun will set through the light of prism of what we create.
The 'salt and light' that perhaps we once were, seems to be dissolving; our 'shine' now a patina of yellow green tarnish reflecting distorted in the shattering radiance.
Our unity is our only true strength; for, within us, nothing splintered stands. All things shattered fall.
This piece suggesting perhaps the Salt is dissolving, the light is fading, and the City splintering around it's paper-mache beliefs of ever lasting strength.
This not a political statement but an observational one, perhaps a philosophical one. But certainly, I feel, an accurate one.
We must find strength in common ground.
We must all propagate a unity.
Or we will splinter as consummate individuals.
The salt is melting back into the sea.
The sun will set through the light of prism of what we create.
‘...at the moment of: A Christ’s Death’
I suppose the understanding, for me, toward Christ is a bit different; this piece being not so much a religious testament as it is an observation of man, toward a man.
The scars on the Christ figure are visible to the viewer's lower left in the work. The lashes and the stones and the wood torn through him.
On the viewer's right is seen the Angels, once comforting Christ, now rising with his Spirit toward the Heavens, leaving the broken body behind.
The Crown of Thorns, violently embedded upon him with such disdain, sit no longer atop the man, but float freely beyond him and of the mockery and impudence intended toward him.
The healing Rains begin to fall at the upper most left.
The droplets tiny crosses, perhaps to salve, perhaps to cleanse, perhaps as tears of sorrow for the actions of man.
Son of God,
or son of a carpenter.
His bowed head slipping forward into Peace, at the moment of his death.
‘Christ's death, His scars, should be ours.’
The scars on the Christ figure are visible to the viewer's lower left in the work. The lashes and the stones and the wood torn through him.
On the viewer's right is seen the Angels, once comforting Christ, now rising with his Spirit toward the Heavens, leaving the broken body behind.
The Crown of Thorns, violently embedded upon him with such disdain, sit no longer atop the man, but float freely beyond him and of the mockery and impudence intended toward him.
The healing Rains begin to fall at the upper most left.
The droplets tiny crosses, perhaps to salve, perhaps to cleanse, perhaps as tears of sorrow for the actions of man.
Son of God,
or son of a carpenter.
His bowed head slipping forward into Peace, at the moment of his death.
‘Christ's death, His scars, should be ours.’
Untitled
Earth Balance
Untitled
C - Shape man
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