Sketches, things.
Have been working on some things of late for a story ( example of the text behind the cut)
To be honest this work has taken its own life quite independent of the story, not sure about expierments with water colour as above, will have to do until i get hold of canvas. I`m looking at some amalgimation of the above images, for the final piece.
This story happens in a warp, in a place known to your senses but in complete incoherence with the traditions of eras. In this world there is no era, no defined style. Where the description leaves you with questions, I suggest you elaborate the scene according to your preferences.
Papagio's sadness
The sky moved so slowly.
Against the waterfall, the wind could not be heard. It was as if both had melted to orchestrate the final arrival of Frostine...
She wore a knee length laced dress where all shades of white sewed together designed a massacred floral pattern. Massacred just like her face. Do not feel pity for those broken features which once turned the head of even the most frigid of men.
* * *
That Shaun-Paul character, another sad being, so gay he though he had to be the epitome of camp with a fake french accent. Him and his camera pestering her hazel eyes: "Anozer poze! Juste anozer poze da'ling... You know what your cheekbones do to my bank balance! Ah...I can imagine all ze boys lying on my carpet az I eat zem for breakfast lunch and diner on satu'day!' Exaggerating the visualisation of his orgy with that high pitched, coy orgasm...
What did she care of his fake desires, if anything it made her sick. She was a live doll with sole aspiration to lay her hands on the most powerful fortune that was not made of dead trees. The most powerful the west had yet accumulated since the darkest night of Judas. She wondered how could anyone depict those first fast and violent whispers of dementia creeping onto his fading love of life. For having aloud the death of the preaching of natural spirits:'....Murderer, swine!'..light feminine evil chuckles begin, echoing..' For having aloud the roman empire to regain control in exchange of forty silver pieces: "Thief!....Knife to wrist!.........rope to neck!'...Chuckles again, the words spoken faster.. 'Come you! Who's sold the blood of the innocent to me...I shall make you king of nothing.' Chuckles fading.
Frostine was wondering if her followers were hearing those same voices now...was she deserving of their protection? Her right cheek bones had been crushed in by a lead pipe in the back alleys of florence where Papagio had shown no mercy. Grabbing her hair in Zetti's cafe, dragging her back against the rough, cold stone floor as if she were a freshly milled bag of flour; still warm.
Frostine's voice had retired into her heart, out of shock. Here was a man who had chauffeured her, and her lover, all around the world for the last two years. Ensuring her comfort, ensuring the couple's transgressions, especially in public places. Here as they reached execution, Papagio flung her forwards like one would throw a dirty shirt on a pile of washing. She bounced off the wall, he was already gathering momentum. As she landed, he swung his instrument around with all the might he possessed imagining her head as a baseball. No. He had shown no mercy, as the fractures ruptured the insides of her face, causing her molars and premolars to disconnect from her gums. She could not open her mouth...she swallowed. This was twelve hours ago, since then florence had become a memory.
They were driving up a long and winding path somewhere in the mountains, it felt like they were going north although it wasn't cold enough for snow. And when finally she could open the window, the sight left the eye gazing the lush green vale ahead with great sentiment of desired freedom, which encapsulated her doll's life; felt even more when Capoz brought the car to a full stop and pressed down the separating window to perverse at her: "...Of course she's still alive, she still has that beautiful left eye cursing us. Rape you now? I'm still too ugly, I believe you have yet to suffer certain disfigurements?" Capoz was not a strong as Papagio but still he had a mean fist. Frostine had no choice in the matter, from then on, she knew she was walking a torturous death plank. Weakness was not a sight she would grant them with. She came out of the car, as she would on a premier night and presented her jaw. Leaving the comfort of his seat in the same instant, Capoz was taken aback as he motioned to face her. His surprise turned to sour sadism ' You make my job easier'. There were four blows to the left side of her jaw which came down with all his weight as he grabbed her open shoulder collar with his left grip and threw all velocity in his right hook. The left corner of her lower lip swelled and cracked. She went down on all fours, trying to scream but in too much pain to do anything with her vocal chords. Wishing to cry but restrained by the blood stream trickling from her eye. As his final blow landed Frostine to her knees, Capoz kneeled in dance with her, demonstrating his blood lust which he had not finished quenching. He pulled his custom butterfly knife from the inside of his coat: "...A blade so Sharp..." he said pulling a few of her hair out. " ...it slices even the hair that hovers the air. You would not be complete without a scar." He twisted her head in his direction and in one firm and clean movement, he opened the left side of her forehead ensuring he did not reach the temple. She still couldn't sound anything. He caught the drops dripping from the knife and brought them to his mouth, then wiped his weapon until it shone.
Papagio joined capoz and looked on the changed creature: ' From here on end, we walk.' Capoz stood up and burnt the cloth he had used to clean his razor all the time Papagio kicked her up and then started a tirade he seemed to have been rehearsing all the way to her funeral:
"I awoke in a startle when I heard that his grace has chosen to disrespect my beliefs. How could our people live up to a superior who did not comply with what he preached. When I saw you, I understood. This time, my lord sent Esmeralda to conquer. I treated you as a daughter in order to conjure a sacrifice that even you, cannot believe.' He approached her lovingly, outstretched his arm and caressed the remaining part of her still untouched left cheek, then held her as if a child. His tears started to roll as he whispered in her ears: "My anger is my passion, because of you, my innocence has fled. Because of you, I am marked by my principles, because of you I will break his heart." He moved away and kicked her again, pushing her towards the edge of the hill, his foot having impacted her abdomen.
Having lost all sense of balance, she rolled all the way down to where the cascade was running. She lay there on her side two feet away from the water.
Frostine had reached physical numbness, looking toward the sky, the grass, the forest, for any sign of life. She tried to pull herself up but she laid eyes on her reflection in the river and she could no longer see her future. She was curled on her knees in the fetal position, shaking, confused and furious.
The afternoon sun had a faint warmth to it, a tint of comfort against the heavy footsteps that were closing in on her. Resolved, she stoop up and turned around to see that Papagio had a cleaver in his hand which he slashed across both of Capoz' neck arteries; he dropped instantly. His torrent spilled over his clothes and drew him down to rest on the soggy ground. Ignoring the dead man, he looked to Frostine. Pacing forwards he continued his tirade with eloquence reminiscent of Don Giovanni:
"I agreed to your death but not to your rape. Capoz was necessarily slain to keep the sanctity of my duty....Now...I remember you in a rich emerald dress, you had those silly diamond earrings and necklace on. I prefer you without jewelry. I can understand how you caught his eye, your sleek wavy hair, pulpous lips, a frame that would have any sculptor excited. You took away his purity when you locked yourselves in the confessional. In front of all our representatives, you took the white robe and tainted it with a woman's sent. None questioned the action although those close enough heard the heavy breathing you so brilliantly arose with that deep kiss of yours. That kiss he never stop telling me about all the time you were not there. That latin mantra flowing out of his mouth, pretending to pray to god. All the time It was in between his legs! Did you honestly think that the streaming public, the roaming cardinals nor I could hear your embrace? Then you took him through the door didn't you?' Frostine staring in fear walked backwards and found herself standing in the river, tripping over some rocks still managing to stand proud. Papagio could not be reasoned as his voice bellowed :'Where do you think you're going? That water is still too clean to wash away what you committed yourself to!...Remember! You took him through the back wall, up the stairs and into my room! I ran so fast to try and stop you but the door was already bolted. I went into John's room and peered through the painting of the Madonna, I saw you rip the clothes off him...after that, you left my insides dead...not only did you destroy the silence of my room...' They were up against one another in the river '...you destroyed my religion.' His cleaver swung again.
Papagio climbed back into the car, Capoz' and her body in the boot to be fed to the pigs at the monastery's farm.
He left her head to sail down the stream that joined the waters the pope filtered and drank from every morning, envisaging the blood cells running down his throat all the time he was dreaming of their sacred climax.
Above the cascade on the higher hill, behind the pines, another woman stood. A sheep herder with binoculars meant to track far ranging wolves and members of her flock. This afternoon she saw one that set her curiosity ablaze.
*
To be honest this work has taken its own life quite independent of the story, not sure about expierments with water colour as above, will have to do until i get hold of canvas. I`m looking at some amalgimation of the above images, for the final piece.
This story happens in a warp, in a place known to your senses but in complete incoherence with the traditions of eras. In this world there is no era, no defined style. Where the description leaves you with questions, I suggest you elaborate the scene according to your preferences.
Papagio's sadness
The sky moved so slowly.
Against the waterfall, the wind could not be heard. It was as if both had melted to orchestrate the final arrival of Frostine...
She wore a knee length laced dress where all shades of white sewed together designed a massacred floral pattern. Massacred just like her face. Do not feel pity for those broken features which once turned the head of even the most frigid of men.
* * *
That Shaun-Paul character, another sad being, so gay he though he had to be the epitome of camp with a fake french accent. Him and his camera pestering her hazel eyes: "Anozer poze! Juste anozer poze da'ling... You know what your cheekbones do to my bank balance! Ah...I can imagine all ze boys lying on my carpet az I eat zem for breakfast lunch and diner on satu'day!' Exaggerating the visualisation of his orgy with that high pitched, coy orgasm...
What did she care of his fake desires, if anything it made her sick. She was a live doll with sole aspiration to lay her hands on the most powerful fortune that was not made of dead trees. The most powerful the west had yet accumulated since the darkest night of Judas. She wondered how could anyone depict those first fast and violent whispers of dementia creeping onto his fading love of life. For having aloud the death of the preaching of natural spirits:'....Murderer, swine!'..light feminine evil chuckles begin, echoing..' For having aloud the roman empire to regain control in exchange of forty silver pieces: "Thief!....Knife to wrist!.........rope to neck!'...Chuckles again, the words spoken faster.. 'Come you! Who's sold the blood of the innocent to me...I shall make you king of nothing.' Chuckles fading.
Frostine was wondering if her followers were hearing those same voices now...was she deserving of their protection? Her right cheek bones had been crushed in by a lead pipe in the back alleys of florence where Papagio had shown no mercy. Grabbing her hair in Zetti's cafe, dragging her back against the rough, cold stone floor as if she were a freshly milled bag of flour; still warm.
Frostine's voice had retired into her heart, out of shock. Here was a man who had chauffeured her, and her lover, all around the world for the last two years. Ensuring her comfort, ensuring the couple's transgressions, especially in public places. Here as they reached execution, Papagio flung her forwards like one would throw a dirty shirt on a pile of washing. She bounced off the wall, he was already gathering momentum. As she landed, he swung his instrument around with all the might he possessed imagining her head as a baseball. No. He had shown no mercy, as the fractures ruptured the insides of her face, causing her molars and premolars to disconnect from her gums. She could not open her mouth...she swallowed. This was twelve hours ago, since then florence had become a memory.
They were driving up a long and winding path somewhere in the mountains, it felt like they were going north although it wasn't cold enough for snow. And when finally she could open the window, the sight left the eye gazing the lush green vale ahead with great sentiment of desired freedom, which encapsulated her doll's life; felt even more when Capoz brought the car to a full stop and pressed down the separating window to perverse at her: "...Of course she's still alive, she still has that beautiful left eye cursing us. Rape you now? I'm still too ugly, I believe you have yet to suffer certain disfigurements?" Capoz was not a strong as Papagio but still he had a mean fist. Frostine had no choice in the matter, from then on, she knew she was walking a torturous death plank. Weakness was not a sight she would grant them with. She came out of the car, as she would on a premier night and presented her jaw. Leaving the comfort of his seat in the same instant, Capoz was taken aback as he motioned to face her. His surprise turned to sour sadism ' You make my job easier'. There were four blows to the left side of her jaw which came down with all his weight as he grabbed her open shoulder collar with his left grip and threw all velocity in his right hook. The left corner of her lower lip swelled and cracked. She went down on all fours, trying to scream but in too much pain to do anything with her vocal chords. Wishing to cry but restrained by the blood stream trickling from her eye. As his final blow landed Frostine to her knees, Capoz kneeled in dance with her, demonstrating his blood lust which he had not finished quenching. He pulled his custom butterfly knife from the inside of his coat: "...A blade so Sharp..." he said pulling a few of her hair out. " ...it slices even the hair that hovers the air. You would not be complete without a scar." He twisted her head in his direction and in one firm and clean movement, he opened the left side of her forehead ensuring he did not reach the temple. She still couldn't sound anything. He caught the drops dripping from the knife and brought them to his mouth, then wiped his weapon until it shone.
Papagio joined capoz and looked on the changed creature: ' From here on end, we walk.' Capoz stood up and burnt the cloth he had used to clean his razor all the time Papagio kicked her up and then started a tirade he seemed to have been rehearsing all the way to her funeral:
"I awoke in a startle when I heard that his grace has chosen to disrespect my beliefs. How could our people live up to a superior who did not comply with what he preached. When I saw you, I understood. This time, my lord sent Esmeralda to conquer. I treated you as a daughter in order to conjure a sacrifice that even you, cannot believe.' He approached her lovingly, outstretched his arm and caressed the remaining part of her still untouched left cheek, then held her as if a child. His tears started to roll as he whispered in her ears: "My anger is my passion, because of you, my innocence has fled. Because of you, I am marked by my principles, because of you I will break his heart." He moved away and kicked her again, pushing her towards the edge of the hill, his foot having impacted her abdomen.
Having lost all sense of balance, she rolled all the way down to where the cascade was running. She lay there on her side two feet away from the water.
Frostine had reached physical numbness, looking toward the sky, the grass, the forest, for any sign of life. She tried to pull herself up but she laid eyes on her reflection in the river and she could no longer see her future. She was curled on her knees in the fetal position, shaking, confused and furious.
The afternoon sun had a faint warmth to it, a tint of comfort against the heavy footsteps that were closing in on her. Resolved, she stoop up and turned around to see that Papagio had a cleaver in his hand which he slashed across both of Capoz' neck arteries; he dropped instantly. His torrent spilled over his clothes and drew him down to rest on the soggy ground. Ignoring the dead man, he looked to Frostine. Pacing forwards he continued his tirade with eloquence reminiscent of Don Giovanni:
"I agreed to your death but not to your rape. Capoz was necessarily slain to keep the sanctity of my duty....Now...I remember you in a rich emerald dress, you had those silly diamond earrings and necklace on. I prefer you without jewelry. I can understand how you caught his eye, your sleek wavy hair, pulpous lips, a frame that would have any sculptor excited. You took away his purity when you locked yourselves in the confessional. In front of all our representatives, you took the white robe and tainted it with a woman's sent. None questioned the action although those close enough heard the heavy breathing you so brilliantly arose with that deep kiss of yours. That kiss he never stop telling me about all the time you were not there. That latin mantra flowing out of his mouth, pretending to pray to god. All the time It was in between his legs! Did you honestly think that the streaming public, the roaming cardinals nor I could hear your embrace? Then you took him through the door didn't you?' Frostine staring in fear walked backwards and found herself standing in the river, tripping over some rocks still managing to stand proud. Papagio could not be reasoned as his voice bellowed :'Where do you think you're going? That water is still too clean to wash away what you committed yourself to!...Remember! You took him through the back wall, up the stairs and into my room! I ran so fast to try and stop you but the door was already bolted. I went into John's room and peered through the painting of the Madonna, I saw you rip the clothes off him...after that, you left my insides dead...not only did you destroy the silence of my room...' They were up against one another in the river '...you destroyed my religion.' His cleaver swung again.
Papagio climbed back into the car, Capoz' and her body in the boot to be fed to the pigs at the monastery's farm.
He left her head to sail down the stream that joined the waters the pope filtered and drank from every morning, envisaging the blood cells running down his throat all the time he was dreaming of their sacred climax.
Above the cascade on the higher hill, behind the pines, another woman stood. A sheep herder with binoculars meant to track far ranging wolves and members of her flock. This afternoon she saw one that set her curiosity ablaze.
*