Stars of 2014 #5

Hello sweet people Last week was really hectic for me and dA not loading properly wasn't helping, so sorry for the delay in responses I'll try to get back to you as soon as possible. I hope you had a lovely week and may this one be even better Before we go on, I'd like to wish HAPPY BIRTHDAY to a very special person She's one of the sweetest and kindest people I've ever met, a good friend All the best to you, beautiful  
Now please let me introduce you to...

 

L A U R E N T Giguere comes from Montreal, Quebec, Canada. His goal is to do exposition and produce a full immersion show. "I started photography 3 years ago to express my thoughts and feeling, it came naturally I guess. I'm inspired by music, paintings, other photography, Christopher Pratt..."









From the "spacial dimensions of the internet" comes D E E to share her story... "My reason to engage in art is pretty much that ever since I was little, I've always felt that I was most at home with myself (if that even makes sense) whenever there was paper in my hand. I love paper in both that blank and filled varieties. The blank sheets were for me to visualize my hopes and fears on, whether in paintings or in pen. The filled sheets were to allow me to, even for a moment, immerse myself in the wonders of the world and the wonderful, wonder-filled beings I longed so much to know more of." Honestly, I can understand that, I love paper too Okay, so where does she find inspiration? "What inspires me? You. Seriously. You're awesome! I am in love with the seemingly endless skies and seas, people and places, myths, ancient history, history, fortune-tellers, paintings and novels, science and religion, flowers that manage to pop out of concrete corners (intrigue me), the never ending battle between good and evil, ugly truths and beautiful disasters." And her goal? "I want to be able to inspire and affect the lives of the people who see and read my work, just as I continue to be inspired and affected by so many, many magnificent pieces created by a plethora of talented painters and writer-poets." 

17-180 micrometersWhen we say hairline
understood as human hair
and
in the average of our daily lives would indicate
such a minuscule matter
microscopic width
indifferent distance
But when it becomes
the keen remoteness between your heart and mine
and the
almost warmth of your sure touch on my doubtful skin
I'd rather be at the apex
while you at the bottom of the
Himalayan mountains
where the cold and view of horizon
would help
lessen the longing
But I
I digress
and I
remind myself
of the 17-180 micrometer
demarcation bar
hairline fracture-esque in appearance  
yet gargantuan in sensation
You are the maxillary 3rd molars
I should have extracted  
long ago
I suffocate
living in broken recording
hearing your breath whisper
begging
I hope you
drown
exhaustingly
give up
and drown
where sunlight can never again reach you
nor deja vu resuscitate the harbored air
of our 17-180 micrometer
transatlantic gully  
I am tormented by a hairline
I am being pushed to the purlieu of my exis Serendipity and SnowfallI am la vie en rose,
a newborn with as many mini bones in my body as possibilities.
Lovelily,
I am potential waiting to be tapped into.
I am a spectrum of light,
serenity in the symmetry of a snowflake.
I come veiled in lace from everlasting love's womb with my budding,
fresh,
goose-flesh tucked tenderly underneath.
I spread my spirit wide,
outstretching my feather-tips &,
supplicated by twizzles,
I catch my ballerina's foot & fly.
In these fleeting,
finite moments of ubermensch suspension in multiple salchows comes clairvoyance,
a kindness beyond the absolution of mundane minds.
With the key to perfection being repetition,
I pray you watch me as I molt my flaws away under the wondrous,
winter sun.
I shall soar,
from my axel I shall spiral sublimely on the outskirts of onlookers' smiles-
as well as my own,
& I shall skimpily,
silkily,
glide through the snowflake strata unto the star-studded shangri-la.
I find my freedom in a winter only world.
Let me lease into my
Turning Into Ghosts2007
BABYLON- AL HILLAH,
IRAQ.
I have come back. Finally, I am here, standing on the same unwinding road that I was forced to bid goodbye to in what seems to have been eons ago and yet, it feels like I never really left at all. Seventeen years have passed since my nightmares first began to unfold into reality; the summer of 1990 forever haunts me. So full of emotion, my eyes tear up as I am still trying to process my arrival. Truly, I feel as if every time I inhale and my lungs expand, I am instantly pricked with a million needles and, whenever I breathe out and my lungs deflate, it's as if I've lost my soul altogether with the carbon dioxide waste. My heart must be shouldering bricks and my legs are but trapped in cement shoes, I just know it.
Why am I back here? I have already lost everything. I am entering a town filled with past ghosts and demons. I tell myself that I need not revisit this sad reminder of the irreparable yet my feet continue marching along this corkscrew path. A va The Story StartsThe story starts in certain Hay (neighborhood) Al Fedaa, Babyl- Hilla, Iraq, in the 6th month of the year 1969. Here I start off as a fetus in my mother’s womb; just one of a quarter million other fetuses being bred for the second out of three waves of death popular to the people of Najaf, Hilla and Karbala. One million lives brought out before me were being prepared for their annihilation in the first death wave as I was being made after all, so what’s another quarter million surely?
Seriously though, my story begins in the much summery afternoons of early August of the year 1979. Ooh, what a year to start a story really, since it was also a year where many would have their stories come to an end. 1979 was the final year before the first death wave and the final year of Iraq’s glory days. The smell of Mohammedi roses and Arabian Jasmine simmering and cooling with the arid winds, and dried apricot sherbet served alongside freshly picked Jaffa oranges from our own gard Celestial MemoriesGod how I have prayed to never fall prey
to the nectarine gossamer caught on the
cornerstone of your mouth,
a celestial house
Lips radiating like redshift,
indomitable as quasars with
enough poignancy to pierce through my very pulse while
you create maps, circumnavigating through these
black holes that you bore into my being and very core as
my spirit surrendered to your summons long before
I am an ocean of stark emptiness and
you are seemingly endless seas of starburst
You leave and I break into
cold sweat, blueshift and pale skin
Memories of starry night, air on the g string and
cigarette stained fingers about coffee drained tongues
hang on for dear life like
deadening leaves on dampening bark fearing the
fast approaching icy drafts
No matter the nebulae and speed of light,
no matter there be an earth or home to return to or not,
you are for always where I end and
begin
In you is my equinox and
together we shall always lay down and
die only to lay in each others arms soon and
again
I dream of DamascusDearest anon,
Kindly claim that bejeweled dagger and, as I feel the cold blade keenly on my nape, I ask you to cleanly cut through
Liberate me from my crowning glory, my shackles called femininity
At long last, I am released, relieved of my braids, my chains
Finding my own, I set free the nightingale caught up in her cage,
Hoping that someday I will once again hear her bird-songs of my bit of Bilad El Sham, my Suriyah
Desert me in Damascus,
Allow me to wander and totter to quench my thirst, solve my hunger and salve my wounds
Permit me to, as my vision blurs, simmer from sand and sun and sink myself in my own mirage of an oasis meant only for me
Show me the path to the historical mosques,
Call out to me in the palace of the past capital of the Ummayid Caliphate
I will take flight alongside the kit of pigeons painting the sky and framing the holy minarets
I want to stand on that border of the Graeco-Roman grid
Take me to the tombstone of John the Baptist- the prophetic, the saint
Greet poet, breathe now.                                                                           you
                                                                           are 
                                                                           the 
                                                    an irrevocable truthi.
snowflake child, you are a fine example
of the incandescence of a human light
even under innumerable umbras
i see you- ruby and blooming
ferociously fighting your way
out of a pile of rubble
ii.
my anemone, my halo
that comely wraps around my moon pith
do not fret if i self-stumble, fumble
with my fingers, and mumble to my toes
my center of gravity is oft frail and
meek to begin with
iii.
you are lead cause of the diamond flecks
scattering about the carbon of my pupils
you do not leave me
you teach me to be
snake-eyed yet shotgun-hearted-
a sapphire wanderlust livid
for life and star-gazing sights, you map
constellations on my freckles and fright  
iv.
look now at how i'll find my lighthouse lover
then tend to some kids
and grow out of my gills and into grey hairs
then tend to some kids with their own kids
and reminisce about friends and phenomena
i signed my name on a patch of sky with
all on my own except
that your hand never left mine
that if i were to crumble
like the sandcastle





Here's S A B I N A  D'Antonio speaking: "I come from the USA, Maryland, but recently I have moved and started a new journey in Victoria, Australia." She started making art with her Mother... "She would be on one side of the room cutting up a pattern/ sewing or doing her crochet, while I would be painting/ drawing on the other side of the room. But like most people, art has come and gone from my life. Art turned professional for me in 2011 after loosing my job and relationship in late 2009. You could say, I found myself when I lost what I thought was everything." Now what inspires her... "Anything can trigger me to paint or sketch, the color of someone’s shirt, a song on the radio, or an image/ idea that pops into my head." And her goal? "To always love walking into my studio and how it makes me feel. I love trying new things out and that feeling you get when it works. To see how people react to my art, what they see and feel, and of course to hopefully one day be able to support myself selling my artwork."

:thumb354646213: :thumb356953559: :thumb402466879:
:thumb357441588: :thumb392637987: :thumb399320382:
:thumb405031017: :thumb411864866: :thumb417205014: