Hanging in banal closets of plaster, tempting the colors from the emotions, the silkslips like hidden thoughts from the body, allowing a history of its own to flourish, like names, faces, symbols, intentions, whichare unknown. Questions are in the stitches; and in the beckoning, as it is seen and absorbed.A world opened. A forest steepedin its steep assumptions. Goodness held darkness.There is the sight of black; there is its urging.In the sense of it, a new sense approaches -approaches from the heart of the apparel.What can I do? Place my hands on the surface? Or place your hands on my complex hands, to be adorned, densely, in elusive cloth. Lamont Palmer http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/little-black-dress/
torstai 28. tammikuuta 2010
Netistä löydetyistä kuvista tehty photoshop harjoitus.
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