forsaken  |  paradise lost series

                                                     The fiend look't up and knew
                                His mounted scale aloft: nor more; but fled
                       Murmuring, and with him fled the shades of night.

                                                       John Milton, Paradise Lost  iv:1013


                                                                              listening to:
                                    Giulio Caccini, Paul Pritchard, ave maria 

I had to laugh at the comment posted by JfZ (otherwise known
as our beloved John Furie Zacharias) on the aside tag board: 
   "Milton's a bit thick for the season."
   He is indeed...for any season, and not to everyone's taste,
including mine at times. Still, many of his passages resonate
within me unlike any other.
   In my quest to 'reclaim paradise' via this image series, I've been
bles't with some wonderfully irreverent artists and friends to help
me through those often painfully dry sections. To wit, I give you
three 'critiques' posted on UseFilm regarding the last two images:

[re the above image, insight offered by the ever wild
and wonderfully wiggy Paul Read:]

"...swinging spiraling lantern entrails festooned with small individual lump-sized parchment homes with tiny armchairs for miniature people and decorative busts of dazzling luminaries, the three Geralds, the more than one Steve, Doris who discovered the conservation of momentum.
   Bits of carpet stuck in the gaps...
   Wending their way up a mountain or something so they can waft down again, like wafer-thin toast winched about
on a dark winter's night."

[re the another image from the series:]

"Yes, I think I see what you're getting at here, this is about that old chestnut: gender confusion, which discarnate entities have no end of trouble with most of the time. (In as much as time actually exists.)
   It's rather like having a hip replacement operation, then, instead of aching and hobbling, finding that your hip has been replaced with a whooshy bellowy sparkly corbiculate thing that goes "fuff" and zooms about in pumping squirms, rather like an apine jellyfish...watching... watching... watching......and listening, of course.
   Listen and learn with Jude."

[and from the inimitable Janet B:]

"My take on this image....and you may not like this as I have lost all my intellectual thoughts/words in the past few years with having children as my main source of company. Even the child I own that has become an adult (hence SOME potential for adult conversation) has abandoned me for 'greener pastures' :) So, what I see here is how my buttock feels after holding my youngest child (who is sick) for the past 3 days straight...mostly numb with a slight tingle!!"

With friends like these, who needs Milton!

                                                            conclave  |  paradise lost series

                                                            Spirits when they please
                                     Can either sex assume, or both; so soft
                                   And uncompounded is their essence pure,
                                        Not tied or manacl'd with joint or limb,
                               Nor founded on the brittle strength of bones,
                   Like cumbrous flesh; but in what shape they choose
                                      Dilated or condens't, bright or obscure,
                                               To execute their aerie purposes,
                                            And works of love or enmity fulfill.
                                                         John Milton, Paradise Lost  i:423


                                                                              listening to:
                                Giulio Caccini, Paul Pritchard, ave maria 

For a while now, images and text from Milton's classic have
consistently found their way into my life, evidencing both sub-
consciously and consciously in art and writing. I've no idea why
...I only know the images are strong, persistent, compelling,
demanding they be given form.
   Once again, bowing to my quirky and often unpredictable
muse, I've begun developing this series of images in earnest...
a personal interpretation, perhaps a quest to reclaim what was
lost. And in that endeavor, I'm reminded that it's the journey,
not the destination, wherein lies the reward.

                                                                                         umbra nihili

                
                             Change is the constant, the signal for rebirth,
                                                            the egg of the phoenix.
                                                                              Christina Baldwin

                                                                              listening to:
                                                                                     Aeone,
                                                    Umbra Nihili (without shadow)