Skip to main content

16.11.2011

To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose  under the heavens: A time to be born, and a time to die; A time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; A time to kill, and a time to heal; A time to break down,  and a time to build up; A time to weep, and a time to laugh; A time to mourn, and a  time to dance; A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones  together; A time to embrace, and a time to refrain from  embracing; A time to seek, and a time to lose; A time to keep, and a  time to cast away; A time to rend, and a time to sew; A time to keep silence,  and a time to speak; A time to love, and a time to hate; A time of war, and a  time of peace...
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

13.10.2011

"And when he had opened the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth beast say, Come and see . And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth."
Post a Comment
Read more

07.03.2016

This is my third animation film. "Supper with Picasso" is the title of my painting http://www.saatchiart.com/art/Paintin... and the title of the animation film. "Supper with Picasso" is not a story of everyday life. These are my thoughts about Art. I think contemporary art follows a false scent. This is surreal off-the-wall humor. This is my protest against abomination in the contemporary art. Picasso said:" The real artists are Giotto and Rembrandt, I'm just a clown, who understood his time". He was right.
Post a Comment
Read more

01.02.2011

"Out of chars and ashes, out of dust and coals, like golden salamanders, the old years, the green years, might leap; roses sweeten the air, white hair turn Irish-black, wrinkles vanish; all, everything fly back to seed, flee death, rush down to their beginnings, suns rise in western skies and set in glorious easts, moons eat themselves opposite to the custom, all and everything cupping one in another like Chinese boxes, rabbits into hats, all and everything returning to the fresh death, the seed death, the green death, to the time before the beginning. A touch of a hand might do it, the merest touch of a hand." Step on a mouse and you crush the Pyramids.
Post a Comment
Read more