The Dark Angels are a come and go crew. They create then disappear like street art. Their works exist in fragments, particles that float, dust motes that spin before the wind that blows them to faraway places. They are individuals that work as one. Deep as oceans, as impenetrable as the night. Art urchins and poets, they dissolve before they form. They are the Dark Angels, they are discharge.They are a bloody mouthful.
Tuesday, 24 May 2011
...
exposed and barren, the thrill you see. rat peeled back the remnants and a cool wind blew in from the west, disheveling all of the written words..
4 comments:
I take it these are garments? Fantastic whatever!!!
What a thing. I love it.
... and, threads pulled, the words became squiggles and lines in a tapestry of meanings stripped: more beautiful and meaningful than any intent.
Glorious stuff - the stuff that our subconscious in made of - resonated in their lieu.
I am in love with this disintegration/reinvention of meaning, Doriandra!
You are pure genius!
thank you all.. Iryna is right, pulling threads, scorching silk, burning edges, hand printing.. little fragments, peculiar thoughts.
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