#texture abstract

[fandomsandfeminism]

Since we're talking about abstract art, I don't think I've shown these off before.

So the basic technique is:

1. Start with a black canvas.

2. Swirl dish soap in a cool pattern on the canvas. (The soap will be the black lines later)

3. Spray the canvas with spray paint. The paint slides off the soap, but will dry on the non-soaped bits.

4. Wait for it to dry, then gently rinse the canvas to get the soap off and air dry it.

You can also spray paint the canvas first, let it dry, then soap, and spray black (or another color) over it. (Which is what I did for the last one. I also washed that one more aggressively, which got some cool texture stuff going on)

[elusive-wow]

Nenad Bacanovic

[unshackl3d]

[chasingrainbowsforever]

~ Jewel Tones ~

[iztea]

tell us what to fear

[nostalgiaforinfinity]

mountainous textures

[workerfile]

I Am Still Here, Digital Collage, 2024.

[zytes]

burning neurons

[jamesusilljournal]

Details from 'tube abstracts', Distorted Reality, 2023

[loworbittourist]

Gwangyang industrial complex - South Korea 🌏 4k link

[duraante]

nero likes strawberry ice cream with chocolate chunks. he told me himself

a set of polaroids. still workin on V but i dont think ill finish any time soon orz. sorry for the obnoxious watermarks 💔 anyway look at the creatures

[elusive-wow]

Nenad Bacanovic

[theartofjamesb]

Even Demons Deserve Compliments

[bjornbauerart]

“Head in the Clouds (1-10)” acrylic and ink on PVC, 59.4 x 84.1 cm, December 2022

https://bjornbauerart.com/

I was so busy with illustration projects last year that I almost didn‘t paint at all. Fortunately, I got a series of ten pieces in at the finish line. The theme started by pondering this ever expanding cloud that we are all supposed to upload our lives to. But the work ended up having just as much to do with a progression of mental states and the seemingly constant need to find clarity. I think these paintings helped me find some peace and beauty by just resting in the turbulence.

[sirrentxt]

Something about Luis leaning into Virgin Mary more than Jesus and God himself. Something about her being associated with holiness, hope, conversion of a sinner and motherly love.

His mother, absent; a memory, a tale, not so different from the knights and the dragons, save for the things that—Grandfather claims—carry the imprint of her fingers, the things that had the pleasure to witness the gentleness of her hand, years past. To Luis, she's family, familiar, a stranger, a ghost; a blurry figure in the eye of his mind. No pictures, no paintings, just his Grandfather's words: you have her eyes.

Luis being taught that, even if they say otherwise, God's love is conditional; but having Grandfather, more so than the Priest, be the source of information about Holy Mary. And never having Grandfather imply that her love is conditional. Luis believing that even if he's abandoned by God and His son, the Mother will be there for him.

Grandfather telling little Luis that his mom is watching over him alongside the Holy Mother. That even when mom can't watch over him, Mother Mary can, and she does, and she always will.

Her love isn’t religious, in his eyes. It’s purely motherly.

You can't love her more than Jesus did, Grandfather says to him one day, in passing. Luis thinks it a challenge, and loves her even more.

The drastic difference between God (Father; Allfather, paternal, proud, unreachable, mighty. God give me strength and God bless and God be with you. Conditional love; hate for the sinner. The one to exile, condemn, abandon) and Virgin Mary (Mother; maternal, gentle, caretaker. Present in households, a symbol of hope, protector of hearth. Unconditional love, no matter the weight of the sin, no matter what happens—watching over her children)

Luis' life, where God exists mainly in the church, in the prayer, in the concept—but Mother Mary is present, and in every house; somehow, or more so, even in his house, the house where no mother reaches out to her for strength and guidance, for protection from evil, because there is only two of them here; he and Grandfather.

In this house, she fills in the blanks.

When he's older and push comes to shove, it's not God or Jesus that he keeps close to his heart. When he thinks himself a sinner, a lost lamb, when the gifted cross no longer gleams around his neck, resting instead in a dusty drawer under ink-stained notes—it's the silhouette of Holy Mary that keeps him company, engraved on a ring he got, in a subtle reach for faith, off a man at the flea market. It's Holy Mary's image that he turns towards the wall on the nights when men pass through his sheets. It's her that sits patiently in the back of his mind, the corner of his kitchen, even though no prayer leaves his lips, other than the sinful ones he doesn't dare repeat in the light of day—they're not for the ears of the Mother, and they're not for the ears of God.

He might be His child, and still he picks Mother over Father.

pet project: meta // luis, on holy mary

[gbiechele]

Stair Light

Minolta MC Rokkor-PG 58mm f/1.2 Sony A7