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Painting, Oil on Canvas
Size: 13.8 W x 17.7 H x 1 D in
This is the first painting of a contemplated series of 12 Zodiacs. I am inspired by the cosmical and spiritual aspects of the zodiac through the lens of the Hellenic, Mesopotamian, Far Eastern as well as other world traditions and mythology. Deep connection of geometry, time and the human mind are the main drivers behind the methodical, yet expressional work using oil and canvas.
Painting:Oil on Canvas
Original:One-of-a-kind Artwork
Size:13.8 W x 17.7 H x 1 D in
Frame:Not Framed
Ready to Hang:No
Delivery Time:Typically 5-7 business days for domestic shipments, 10-14 business days for international shipments.
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I had swooned; but still will not say that all of consciousness was lost. What of it there remained I will not attempt to define, or even to describe; yet all was not lost. In the deepest slumber -- no! In delirium -- no! In a swoon -- no! In death -- no! Even in the grave all was not lost. Else there is no immortality for man. Arousing from the most profound of slumbers, we break the gossamer web of some dream. Yet in a second afterwards (so frail may that web have been) we remember not that we have dreamed. In the return to life from the swoon there are two stages; first, that of the sense of mental or spiritual; secondly, that of the sense of physical existence. It seems probable that if, upon reaching the second stage, we could recall the impressions of the first, we should find these impressions eloquent in memories of the gulf beyond. And that gulf is, what? How at least shall we distinguish its shadows from those of the tomb? But if the impressions of what I have termed the first stage are not at will recalled, yet, after long interval, do they not come unbidden, while we marvel whence they come? He who has never swooned is not he who finds strange palaces and wildly familiar faces in coals that glow; is not he who beholds floating in mid-air the sad visions that the many may not view; is not he who ponders over the perfume of some novel flower; is not he whose brain grows bewildered with the meaning of some musical cadence which has never before arrested his attention. _Edgar_Allan_Poe
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