Before bed, I heart... III

Norwegian photographer Simen Johan. (I'm allowing myself some old favorites. I can indulge.) He explores relationships between real and the artificial or imagined, and works with composites. As well as allowing for dialogues with narrative and fantasy, his images also questions the authenticity of photography in the digital era.  I love this guy. He rocks my socks off.

From the series "And Nothing Was To Be Trusted"

From the series "Evidence of Things Unseen"

All images © Simen Johan

simenjohan.com

In the morning, I heart...II

(nevermind that it's afternoon already) Joel-Peter Witkin. What an artist. I love his work, all day, every day. I heart you, Mr. Witkin.

                        All images © Joel-Peter Witkin

More images can be found here and here

Before bed, I heart... II

Czech photographer and artist Jan Saudek. I have been a fan of his for many years and never tire of his amazing images.

Catching the Breeze, 1984 © Jan Saudek

Czech Girl Singing, 1990 © Jan Saudek

The Saint, 1992 © Jan Saudek

All images courtesy of saudek.com

Excellent site

Sweet Station is a treat of a site to do some art surfing. I've spent a greater part of my morning finding some very, very good work here. Like this:

Zachary Zavislak (this reminds me a lot of my newest image, Anathema. I'm glad to see I'm not the only one who thinks sheep's heads make for good props.)

Ryan Schude

Daikichi Amano 

Roberto Kusterle

Ashkan Sahihi (from Cum series. Oh yeah. A series of photographs of people who have just been ejaculated on. haha. Love it.)

sweet-station.com

In the morning, I heart...

Norwegian painter Odd Nerdrum.

The seed protectors, 1987

Sleeping Twins, 1987

Man Bitten by Snake, 1992

Dawn, 1990

All images courtesy of nerdrum.com

Before bed, I heart...

Jan von Holleben and his series Dreams of flying

The Superman © Jan von Holleben

The King Kong © Jan von Holleben (images from janvonholleben.com)

Shaken, not stirred...

I don’t know how many souls I have.

I’ve changed at every moment.

I always feel like a stranger.

I’ve never seen or found myself.

From being so much, I have only soul.

A man who has soul has no calm.

A man who sees is just what he sees.

A man who feels is not who he is.

Attentive to what I am and see,

I become them and stop being I.

Each of my dreams and each desire

Belongs to whoever had it, not me.

I am my own landscape,

I watch myself journey -

Various, mobile, and alone.

Here where I am I can’t feel myself.

That’s why I read, as a stranger,

My being as if it were pages.

Not knowing what will come

And forgetting what has passed,

I note in the margin of my reading

What I thought I felt.

Rereading, I wonder: “Was that me?”

God knows, because he wrote it.

-Fernando Pessoa

Images © Dida 2009