And another Human Heart titled:
“He had divested himself of the little cloaked godlet and his other amulets in a place where they would not be found in his lifetime and he’d taken for talisman the simple human heart within him.”
— "Suttree" Cormac McCarthy (IV)

A Human Heart titled;
“He had divested himself of the little cloaked godlet and his other amulets in a place where they would not be found in his lifetime and he’d taken for talisman the simple human heart within him.”
— "Suttree" Cormac McCarthy (IV)

Hello Everyone! I'm an Incarcerated Artist that has been down 22 years and draw 15 hours a day.
Here's my Artist Statement;

"As I navigate the complexities of a life sentence, I find solace in the transformative power of art. For 22 years, I've honed a unique technique using Bic pens to craft intricate, layered drawings that seem to pulse with life. This process has become a meditation, a means to explore the mysteries of consciousness and connection.

Through my art, I seek to bridge the divide between artist and audience, inviting viewers to share in the intimate dance of creativity and understanding. I'm driven by a passion to confront the often-overlooked issue of grief in young men, and the devastating consequences of unchecked pain.

In my work, I strive to create a window into the human experience, revealing the beauty and resilience that can emerge from even the darkest places. My art is a testament to the redemptive power of creativity, a beacon of hope in the darkness, and a reminder that recovery is always possible.

Thank you for joining me on this journey, for bearing witness to my story, and for embracing the beauty that can arise from the most unlikely of places."

The candleflame and the image of the candleflame caught in the pierglass twisted and righted when he entered the hall and again when he shut the door. He took off his hat and came slowly forward. The floorboards creaked under his boots. In his black suit he stood in the dark glass where the lilies leaned so palely from their waisted cutglass vase. Along the cold hallway behind him hung the portraits of forebears only dimly known to him all framed in glass and dimly lit above the narrow wainscotting. He looked down at the guttered candlestub. He pressed his thumbprint in the warm wax pooled on the oak veneer. Lastly he looked at the face so caved and drawn among the folds of funeral cloth, the yellowed moustache, the eyelids paper thin. That was not sleeping. That was not sleeping.

It was dark outside and cold and no wind. In the distance a calf bawled. He stood with his hat in his hand. You never combed your hair that way in your life, he said.
;
All The Pretty Horses by Comac McCarthy

Odi et amo. Excrucio.

#art #outsiderart #prisonart #incarceratedartists #socialjustice #love #joy #peace #galleryart #gallery #jesus #penart #abstractexpressionism #abstractartist #artcollector #artcollective #artoftheday #prison #prisonlife #prisonplaybook #prisionbreak #prisonministry #prisonfood #prisonreformnow #prisoner #prisonstyle #prisionmemes

What I'm currently working on. A Human Heart. Titled:
“He had divested himself of the little cloaked godlet and his other amulets in a place where they would not be found in his lifetime and he’d taken for talisman the simple human heart within him.”
— "Suttree" Cormac McCarthy (IV)

I've been reading Reason since, good God, a very very long time! I'm delighted to have found this app!

A Human Heart titled;
“He had divested himself of the little cloaked godlet and his other amulets in a place where they would not be found in his lifetime and he’d taken for talisman the simple human heart within him.”
— Cormac McCarthy

Suppose there be any soul to listen and you died tonight.

They’d listen to my death.

No final word?

Last words are only words.

You can tell me, paradigm of your own sinister genesis construed by a flame in a glass bell.

I’d say I was not unhappy.

You have nothing.

It may be the last shall be first.

Do you believe that?

No.

What do you believe?

I believe that the last and the first suffer equally. Pari passu.

Equally?

It is not alone in the dark of death that all souls are one soul.

Of what would you repent?

Nothing.

Nothing?

One thing. I spoke with bitterness about my life and I said that I would take my own part against the slander of oblivion and against the monstrous facelessness of it and that I would stand a stone in the very void where all would read my name. Of that vanity I recant all.

"Suttree". Cormac McCarthy