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| Halloween card - digital - DS 2005 |
And have a happy and healthy Celtic New Year!
Friday, October 28, 2011
Monday, October 10, 2011
Of Mandelboxes and Mandelbulbs
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| "Cave of Lost Secrets" - Daniel White - via Skytopia |
I've decided to break away from the "Patron Saints" series for a bit, and fast-forward to the present, specifically addressing some wonderful aspects of the new technology now at a digital artist's disposal. This blog, Trans-D, theoretically has Trandimensionalism at its core, so, what better way to illustrate the possible expressions of this idea than to display the kinds of "dimensionalizing" innovations already available in digital formats and formulas?
Benoit Mandelbrot, of course, is our demi-god in the field of trans-geometry. He was the man who single-handedly pulled those Euclidean cobwebs from our eyes, allowing us a new view and a new terminology of geometrical possibilities. From the dull wasteland of mathematics, Manedlbrot presented us with the lovely and enigmatic Julia Set, and a dizzying array of fractal dimensions leading eventually to a new art form - via the computer - never before conceived of. For example, there are the fractal "quilts" created by artist Rose Rushbrook, and the mind-blowing fractal worlds of Krzysztof Marczak - whose work also appears below, and on this site - and the amazing work of Daniel White shown above. His site, Skytopia, is both a treasure trove of information and examples of new fractal forms.
Fractal forms have, indeed, evolved in recent years, enabling us to view the multiple dimensions of fractals enfolded in 2-D, thereby explicating the visual aspects of mathematical equations and setting them in motion. The techniques used to create the wonderful videos below are found under two key headings; Mandelboxes and Mandelbulbs. Observe the two videos below and hold on to your proverbial hats!
The first is entitled "Like in a Dream II" and is the work of Jeremie Brunet from France.
The second is "Trip to the center of a Hybrid Fractal" by Krzysztof Marczak.
Can't get enough? I have just posted a series of videos (up to and including those shown above) on the sidebar of this blog under "Mandelbox Videos". I have also posted two more - "Alien Hive" by David Pearson, and "A Journey Through Fantasy - Vorticity" - on Post-Mac Blues (my other blog) here. Meanwhile, if you happen upon this post and feel that you might have suggestions, corrections, or information worth sharing, then please comment here or email me, Dia, at: araqinta@att.net.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Selections from The ShadowBride....
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| ShadowBride graphic - 2007, DS |
A sampling of a few recent (1999 - 2010) poems, most appearing originally on one of my former websites, "The ShadowBride."
***
Lost Tales of Anonymous Women
Because she was not treasured,
Time took over,
(And Time treasures no one)
And Time had its way with her;
Worse than serial killers,
Worse than evil stepmothers,
Worse than wild dogs.
Like a disease, like a grub,
It ate, and ate outwards,
Till her skin hung like dried fruit
Off a brittle stalk,
Till all that was pink and white
And frilly as Cinderella's slipper
Blackened like an eel but
Would not slough off.
Because she was not nurtured,
She could not live,
She could not die...
While the briars wound around her
Like New Year's resolutions
And tore, like meathooks
Into her eyes, her heart, her spine.
And. all the time, the blood fell,
Perpetually, chronically,
Drop by drop,
Like an ocean
Filtered through a water clock,
Like scabs in the desert sand,
Like tears on an iron pan, gone
Hissing into oblivion.
Because she was not honored,
Her mind became a morgue,
A silent hallway lined with silent drawers:
Each a keepsake box
Stuffed with muffled accusations.
And these, in turn,
Became her windows,
Blank as prison doors,
Dull as an Arctic horizon,
Where a ship
Would not appear,
Where a dove
Would not alight,
Where she'd not
Let down her hair.
Because she was not pleasured,
The ghosts moved in to stay.
They rustled in the wallpaper,
And groped between her legs.
She let the dust accumulate
In snowy landscapes on the floor,
And let the mold grow on the ceiling,
Its constellations hovering there
Like spells, like curses,
Like soot, like ashes, like dirt;
While, cast in the corner,
Blackened and spent ,
Each one her heart's desire
Or next-to-last lament, lie
A life's supply of wooden matches.
- 2000, Dia Sobin
Port of Dreams
It is always dusk
Behind the moon’s bloodless mirror
The skin is cast off
Layer by layer, submerged,
The pulse ebbs, the airs thicken
And so the blind swimmer
Sets forth
Across the border
To where a starless sky slants
Into a water, slack,
Encoded
W/ the moon’s toneless melodies
- 1999, DS
The Others
They cannot penetrate the aluminum air
where souls lay sleeping...
migrant birds,
mute and flockless,
cast
in a perilous density.
I am hollowed like a gourd,
a Chinese lantern.
The Others brush the walls of my interior
like moths within a globe
but I am blind, flameless.
Only hymns remain
encrypted in my bones,
worn as epitaphs on Martian tombs,
the heart's own hieroglyphics
hermetically sealed...
And though a memory might stir
of the initial fracture
or a featureless twist emerge
from beneath this dull fabric,
I circle alone
transfixed, wingless.
- 2000, DS
These Walled Cities
These walled cities
They are yours
The minarets the domes
Patterned windows
Frameless holes
Streets cobbled with skulls
Of both the faithless
and the faithful
Now ground beneath our heels
Anonymous as stones
I am the anchorite
In the catacombs
The woman in the wall
Skin mouldering with self-betrayal
Brain embalmed with lamentations
Incantations I can't recall
Glass nails scimitars
Nothing penetrates
Still a light swells inside of me
As prayers resonate in the citadel
Bell-like tones enticing me
But forbidden to me
Always forbidden
Yet, some things come to me
The eye of an owl
Snakes in the courtyard
A star's detritus
Some things come to me
Memories of rain the wind
Sensations in the silken skin
A scent a bead a feather
(But I came for love
I came for love only)
Now I lay
Beneath the walls
I lie outside them
The terrible baying of dogs
spreads blood red on the horizon
It is your city
It is always your city
- 2000, DS
Mystica Femina
I know where the burning woman goes
I have seen the ashes.
I have seen the skies darken w/ her cries,
The scarlet tides,
Blackened with denial.
Oh, yes, I know what was done.
My mother was once her friend...
Whether on the corner
Or in the market-place,
Or in a burning bed.
But, even she did not love her.
Nor did all the others.
They could not even see her
As if their eyes were singed shut
By her blazing hair.
What of the ashes then?
Fire by fire consumed.
I see her dancing
Upon the ashes of a Father
That was not, in fact, her own.
After the procession,
They (all) moved on.
- 2010, DS
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