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.
4 comments:
As I take this in, I can almost hear the whoosing sound on the air making trips around the obelisk, the unfolding of the figures in her hand.
I get the sense that I am in this when when I look at it.
The title is fitting.
Excellent Jb!!!
beautiful work!
Much Thanks!!!
Glad you like!
Post a Comment