Who is takeo spikes dating
Creates some kind of life and death erotica, horrible and beautiful.
Erotica of exploitation, defiance and embarrassment, and sadness.
‘When I’m contemplating a new piece, I start by going through my collection of natural history books until I find something that “speaks” to me.
I work with it in terms of size and placement, and then begins the slow and meditative practice of putting paint to porcelain.
At the tip of every photograph lies the materiality, the labor, the dead bird, the masculine body, the boyish body; And similarly there are the two brothers, the twins, one brother holding the other, a hug or a first grasping in front of the world; And when he spoke, I suddenly thought of a child, who must recreate a scene over and over again; The methods improves but the tongue is repeating the old saying “this is me and my brother”, pointing the truth, does things with words; or in Biton’s words “Dogan won life itself. The meticulous execution (each extra-fine brushstroke adding an important detail), the resulting life-like renditions and the consistent format (monochromatic black on white; identical one-size ceramic plates) adhere to the ethos of scientific study.
Susan’s ability to focus is well matched by her possession of a steady hand.
In his meticulous photograph there is something primary, physical like a bone cracking out of skin. » Yaara Shehori The photographs & text were originally published in "The Hottest Place In Hell" magazine, May 7th, 2015 Victorian ornithologists and botanists would have heartily commended Susan Hipgrave’s remarkable series of hand-painted plates.Someone could not woke someone up from its fainting, from its death; that’s almost indecent and yet I believe him; I believe this quest for beauty in all places that supposed to be covered with dirt.“This is me and my brother”, he said to me simply when describing the relationship between the young man and the bird; two non-identical twins who rolled out to the farthest edges: man and bird, live and dead; and suddenly the layers I’ve counted faded into dust.I obsess about how fine a line I can do; ultimately, I love seeing all the little black lines that I’ve painted come together to create an image.’ Despite the striking maturity of her work, Susan has been working in ceramic art for less than a decade.For many years she worked as an art director/designer in advertising.He spoke about dead birds, I remembered birds interested him back then as well, in Bezalel. See, those are birds that people don’t usually put inside their freezer, long winged, magnificent, fragile. He told me about the freezer, the cooler where a dead bird is each time carried into the club he photographs in, waiting for the right, crucial moment.I was immediately sorry I hadn’t thought of it myself, that I hadn’t stolen him from life, into my story.Symbolism pushed its way in, photographs with dead birds, magnificent, hurt, in a club named after the primordial singing bird; and that’s the mode of action: he approaches stranger men at the club and asks them to photograph with a dead bird. The necrophilic layer, the emotions layer, the surprise, the threat, the spectacular sight of a boy holding a bird, struck with a spotlight.It’s a story’s geology, something needs to be done, I thought in despair.However, it soon becomes clear that all is not quite as it seems.Susan departs from a straightforward replication of flora and fauna by concocting strange hybrids or by exaggerating features, such as piercing eyes to convey the extreme visual acuity of an eagle.