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~ I drop scarves skyscraper ~ ...

London Night, 2003

 

I drop the scarves with skyscraper
In the city in a blaze of muslin.
Lilac-blue, coffee,
Seventeen minutes before sunrise.

Capel blue tiles ...
Buds empty streets ...
Crystals concrete calico
Tepleyut, scarves obedience.

Ring lights, blossoming,
And vaguely dreading changes
Zastynut in scarves hiding,
Under the canopy showcases mannequins.

Bottomless singing yacht
About the happiness of eternal wandering,
The headscarf reflect zaplyashet
In the courtyard of the southern suburbs.

And I see quite clearly, smiling,
As a small black kitten
Zevnёt from waking up the handkerchief,
And the city will wake awake.

London Eye, 2008

 

 He was jet-black, and so tiny that it is hard to notice yourself. He lived with his mother, Pant, under the bushes in the square and his name was Moon.

      Shawl mousy gently down on the grass in front of his nose. Although Moon was asleep and scarf planned completely silent - it was enough to wake up. So he did, his eyes opened - at the same time a yawn - and staring at something a mouse in front of him. Moon has not yet learned to trust my eyes, in fact, he is still nowhere used, including the eyes themselves. His eyes, too, are not yet accustomed to the moon, and therefore does not determine the color and have been busye. "Nyau-maa" - called Moon quietly that used to know, I woke up and yawned, and saw something.

      "Nyau - maa" - Mom was not. Moon looked around - nobody.

      In any case, vyaknuv once more, he lay down on his tummy and nose led toward Gray.

      The smell was, but unfamiliar and seemingly, harmless.

 

According to the rules of hunting art, moon began to be chosen is not clear. Reaching the semi-distance jump, he picked up, mustered all his strength, the muscles and the will of one fluffy wad of fearlessness - that taught him how to IAA - and jumped all four paws outstretched in the air, disengaging claws and tail fluffed.

      Plyam! He flopped to the center of the Grey-something felt through it springing grass. His sixteen claws dug into something weightless, legs parted in different directions, and the nose plowed furrow in Gray. He briefly vyaknul and tried to get up.

      Not a bit of it. Each of his foot pulled him part unknown, and though there was no weight, that was enough to moon again fell, this time rolled onto his back. Something pulled behind him and covered his head.

      He tried to roll over on foot and escape, but was worse: he is completely entangled in Gray. "They outsmarted me - realized moon - now it is to eat me!"

      Then he was scared for real.

London, Big Ben

 "Nyau-aa-ay! - He issued a shrill myavk full of fright and fear, and call for help. Floundering in Gray, it was like a cocoon, pupa, from which it is trying to disengaging hitherto unseen butterfly.

      "Nyau-ay-ay-ay-aah !!!" - Swept out of the cocoon, and all the mothers in the city woke up and checked out, everything was in order with their offspring.
      "Nyau-ay-ah" - a plaintive and piercing at the same time.

      Crying raced over the city. Above the highway and bridges, parks and stadiums, residential areas and vacant lots, skyscrapers and shanties ... swept, ringing in the glasses, reflecting multiple echoes in underground tunnels, humming in the wires ... He spoke and roosters crow, dogs and donkeys klaxons Car parking lots and ship bells ....

      The city woke up.

      All this time, my mother Panta sat three meters from his child and grinned at his mustache, from fun and pride at the same time: Well, who else other than her son could be so wonderful to plunge, to show the light of his lungs, and at the same time - to wake the ungrateful city ...

Sur Gnome

Luzern 1986

Moskau 1990

Nurnberg 1987

Paris La Tour Eiffel

Berlin 2009

Passau, 2008

Prag, Hradschin, 2004

China Temple Mount

Venedig, Ponte Tres Arch, 2001

Yemen

Boston I Blue

 

Bruxelles, Grand Palace

Bruxelles, Grand Palace

Venezia (Point of Focus) Hand Colored 1988

Dachlandschaft II-Roofscape II, 2008


Florenz, 2010.jpg

Hauser am Fleet

Venezia 2000

Italy, Portavenere 2007

Aachen

I Dream of Paris

Oh, woman, child, accustomed to play ...

 
Oh, woman, child, accustomed to play
And gaze gentle eyes and caress kiss
I must have you with all my heart despised,
And I love you, excited and longing!
 
 
I love and long to you, forgive and love,
Live one of you in my agony passionate,
For your whim, I will destroy the soul,
Everything all take for yourself - look for beautiful eyes,
 
 
For the word of deceitful that truth gently,
For the sweet melancholy of enthusiastic torment!
You, the sea of ??strange dreams, and sounds and lights!
You, my friend and eternal enemy! The evil spirit and good genius!
 
1894
K. Balmont. Poems.

 

 

 

 
Contemporary Artists of America. Sergio Lopez
Sergio Lopez, a contemporary American artist and illustrator, was born in 1983 in Sonoma County, California. After graduating from the Academy of Art in San Francisco received a bachelor's degree. Acquainted with oil paint and charcoal, Sergio began to rapidly fill the album with drawings of actual observations of life and imaginary scenes.

Without a doubt, creativity Lopez influenced modern graffiti artists and photographers, but most of all an artist admired illustrators and artists of the Golden Age Bravura. He often visits museums, studying the works of the old masters. Most of his works devoted Sergio woman admiring the beauty and grace of her body.

Often the artist writes in nature, later using the knowledge gained from working outdoors in the painting in the studio. According to Lopez, there is no better way to understand the essence of the scene than standing in front of her and her carefully studied. If it detects a new perspective, it immediately sets the easel, so as not to lose good place. In his robot artist uses a variety of materials: oil or acrylic paint, gouache, canvas, paper, etc.

Jean-Marc Moisy Fate rush us ...

She said everything hangs in the balance,
and at best rushing through the waves,
at worst - sand and sand
to the wind ... The fate of the first burst to us
good value tilt
and evil to destroy the habit, in this sense,
we are like water, hang without a bucket
one day on the beam -
supports no protection - no,
prepare in advance - an absurdity,
there is no balance, illusory peace,
where in due time, any collapse fortress
nothing will come back - no beans
in the pod or in the earth, which is sawed -
but if the salt does not lose strength,
everything else as a master.

Yunna Moritz

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The author of works - Jean-Marc Moisy Clairefontaine - France

Jean-Marc Moisy - French painter and musician - amateur in his spare time.
Born in Vesoul (Haute Saone).
From an early age tend to draw, and not to go with friends to kick the ball in the yard.