The Dark Angels are a come and go crew. They create then disappear like street art. Their works exist in fragments, particles that float, dust motes that spin before the wind that blows them to faraway places. They are individuals that work as one. Deep as oceans, as impenetrable as the night. Art urchins and poets, they dissolve before they form. They are the Dark Angels, they are discharge. They are a bloody mouthful.
3 comments:
Woooooooooooooooooow!
I want to sit there ;)
Love it! The composition, shading, contrast, subject, even the text; it all seems so very personally you. From what I've seen anyway. Great work!
So much that can be felt here. A convergence, a seperation. I would like to smell the shirt, though I think the chair would creak ifI sat on it. The weight of the shirt is perhaps degrading itsstucturalntegrity.
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