Author: toddcrawshaw
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Tension & Obsession in Art
“One thing investigators of the psychology of creative people have demonstrated beyond doubt in the past thirty years is that creativity has something to do with obsession. The demons of Poe, Van Gogh, and Liszt are not exceptions but extreme cases of the rule. The tensions we find resolved or at least defined and dramatized…
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Vincent Van Gogh’s Words & Art
1853 – 1890 This painting is believed, my many, to be Vincent Van Gogh’s last self-portrait. It was painted in September 1889, shortly before he left Saint-Rémy-de-Provence in Southern France for Auvers-Our-Oise to be treated for his reoccurring bouts of mental illness. He brought the painting with him to show Dr. Paul Gachet, who told…
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Rumors
The lines of our love touch like the delicate threads of a web. The ends are intertwined and attached to a solid substance unseen and unknown. This is our belief. The surface we live on is tenuous as ice, fragile as glass, and exposing. We move gently over the mirrored images, watching our reflections, careful…
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Triptych
God, Sex & Psychosis (GSP) presents many questions. Among them, this: How do we develop our sense of self – the perception of our internal image? Within the novel, the protagonists – Egon and Mira – are depicted as exceptionally handsome and beautiful, yet neither is fully described. We only receive glimpses of their physical…
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Gallery
We are voyeurs moving like spirits through a gallery of images. If we never saw our image in a mirror, a pool of water, or a pane of glass, what would we imagine ourself to be? Someday an exhibit. If you create it, they will come. Well, not necessarily. But, for now, all the Light-Years…
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Muse
In a cloud of feathers, she spreads down on me. Her presence is soft. My body is hard. I voice my feelings in reds, emote yellows, and tell her dreams of gold. She whispers back in blues to soothe my soul. As she lets me in with a silver sigh, we become a spectral blend…
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Abandoned
An armful of love abandoned on the sidewalk like garbage, the same bundle we held precious, soft and sacred as a baby. Memories consumed and discarded like empty cans and boxes, spoiled fruit and vegetables, of no use to anyone. The air smells foul, reminiscent of wasted words and futile attempts. Flies circle and land…
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Crown
I wish to be king no more. My crown of thorns I renounce. Removed, the shackles of a name, fortune and fame. My kingdom come. Thy will be done. Dissolving in the rain. Castles made of sand. Swallowed by the sea. A naked man. Free to be. Eternity. Again. photo-art design by todd crawshaw
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Quest
Everything was changing. Nothing remained the same. Space had expanded, yet merely rearranged. Time was stretching far too fast and waiting now to snap. If found there is no answer, can the quest be taken back? photo-art design by todd crawshaw
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Gift
Like a special gift arriving on an unexpected day, is our life and love for each other. photo-art design by todd crawshaw