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.

Friday, 20 January 2012

bone vain and muscular pain (© Ana Deus by Albano Ruela)

4 comments:

A.Decker said...

Excellent! A celebration! Sowmewhat macabre, but a celebration nonetheless. No? ;-)

jbkrost said...

very cool!
dancing with the dead.

Ruela said...

black celebration ;)

Aaron Held said...

The Dead have my Head