cm 30 x 26.6 Low Tide - Reflections and Hidden Treasures by Cristina Colli
A new work on my tide series. This time I used Venetian smalti, gold, shells and some recycled safety glass which I found some time ago beside a smashed phone booth.
cm 30 x 26.6 Low Tide - Reflections and Hidden Treasures by Cristina Colli
A new work on my tide series. This time I used Venetian smalti, gold, shells and some recycled safety glass which I found some time ago beside a smashed phone booth.
There was no gold plated chalice to contain this earthly blood
But a cup from heavens above - the chosen vessel
& a dark shadow cast from a heavenly light source materialized my vision
As it was meant to be.
Acrylic on canvas 40x40cm 2009
cm 20 x 25 - Tidal Flux by Cristina Colli
This is another piece in the series inspired by the tide currents and their effect on the beach.
I used glass smalti, stone, gold, pearls and shells.
I collected the shells during a walk at Bull Island. Some of them had been polished by the sea and had such an interesting texture that I used them almost whole, to show their beauty.
A couple of people asked me to post the alternative design to my Stork Cufflinks for the Obstetrician. The 'Sperm and Egg' Cufflinks that I ultimately preferred. I ended up giving them to my genius friend Lee as a thank-you for creating my website in only a way that he can. He subsequently wore them to a film opening where the vice president of a global production company spotted them and complimented his 'house on a hill with smoke coming out of the chimney' cufflinks... Lee set him straight though! (and gave him my card, no order yet!)
by Patrick Naughton
This poem was inspired by a day in Galway listening to the hymns of the past and the ghosts of the present:
There was an old man who looked dead and gone,
pale as death with the reaper beside,
he held the black juice dear to his soul,
when he played the accordian these angels appeared,
these angels had instruments of their own,
a guitar, a flute and a seanog spawned,
they drank, they sang about times long gone,
oh t'was a day to remember in that snug alright,
i saw the old man nearly dead and gone,
playing that beautiful song till night,
they sang about bogs and twigs that day,
reminded me of a tale someone once told,
never fall into a bog or there'll be trouble to pay,
cos once your in, you'll never be out,
maybe that's what happened to the old man,
fell into the snug that cold winters day,
and until this time he will remain.
by Patrick Naughton
I wonder what secrets nature holds,
ears to the ground, stories told,
weather beaten stone where the sun shines bright,
why does the light capture the day so right?
imagine a place where it's dark for time,
some nordic land way beyond,
i suppose they dream of the sun at night?
just one of the secrets nature holds.