Your Art in the Spotlight

A beautiful piece of art by: SmallStepCloser


Crafts is Love
(dreamcatcher project)

Besides travelling I love arts & crafts too. And lately I found one that really suits me 🙂 it is the dreamcatcher making! I am sharing my first ones with you guys. It’s not that hard and very calming, I recommend doing those to every crafty soul out there 😉


Original posted: HERE

The couple who own the blog take, and share, also wonderful and amazing photographs.


Art and Philosophy (6)

One of our members – Mr. Ahmed ALOZADE – creates interesting posts about Art in relation to Philosophy. It’s a privilege and honor The Strix is allowed to publish these here at our website too.


PHILOSOPHY OF ART – Originally posted HERE

What is the difference between aesthetics and beauty?

© — My18th_Who Looks Who ALOZADE A.

The name Aesthetics is new, because the first aesthetic review, the Zeitschrift für Ästhetik und allgemeine Kunstwissenschaft, was launched in 1904, and in France the first aesthetic chair was created in 1921, at the Sorbonne, for Victor Basch .

The task that aesthetics as a discipline supports is as old as thought. Charles will show it by sketching a history of aesthetic thought which is formed long before the discipline is officially established. This task is to wonder about the beauty, and where it occurs, where it is produced, which is mainly art. The etymology of the word tells us, bringing us back to the old Greek source: ἀισθητον, it is the sensible; For what is beautiful is properly a thing, and not an idea: a sensible object, which is offered to sensible knowledge.
Since the beginning of the twentieth century, the debates have been intense, although always academic: to each his aesthetic. Aesthetics is today a common name for disciplines, or if you want very different approaches; None of them can claim a monopoly, and the true aesthetician would be the one who would master them all.

Source: To continue reading more in French

Ever since the faded beauty has been opposed to the sublime of ugliness and grotesque (Hugo, preface to Cromwell, 1827), the aesthetics of beauty seem to be denied by modernity. It may well be that this discredit is deceptive. The paradox of the aesthetics of the beautiful lies in the fact that it alone is attentive to the extreme singularity of its object (the aesthetic of the sublime, on the contrary, tends towards the nothingness of the object) Beauty is necessarily the attribute of « this rose that I see, » and not of the rose in general: « The roses are beautiful » is no longer just an aesthetic judgment but a logical judgment based on aesthetic judgment  » ; Yet the sole object of this admiration remains in indetermination, since the aesthetic revolution, by displacing the criterion of the beautiful from the object to the subject, clearly defines the feeling experienced by the second, but leaves in indeterminacy the singular form from the first. It must therefore be understood that the extreme singularity of the beautiful object does not lie in the aspect of the object itself, but rather in the essential form of the aesthetic singularity itself: the feeling of this rose does not qualify Not the unique aspect of the flower that is before me, but the very fact of the singularity of the aesthetic event, that is, the unique character of its inscription in time and space, That is, in the horizon of sensible experience.

Source: Jacques Darriulat; « De l’Idée du Beau à l’Esthétique ».To continue reading more in French

Family by Stephen

One Rainbow

There is only one rainbow
Father said to daughter.
How could that be, Daddy?
She wisely asked in return.

Because God gave it to me
For safe keeping. In my pocket
It stays until I see a lost soul
On the horizon in need of it.

This cannot be, she said. But why?
Father asked, foolish to her wisdom.
Because God gave me one
To give to you on the horizon.


 For My Angel

Saw Van Morrison
In a dream last night
While in the garden
My Angel sang.

He had climbed a tree
To fly his toy plane
Like a kite trying
To catch the wind.

When he slipped
And began to fall
I caught him
All wet with rain.

Saw Van Morrison
In a dream last night
He held her hand
In the garden.

I climbed a tree
To see just how far
I could see her
As she flew away.

When I slipped
And began to fall
She caught me
All wet with rain.


Father, Son, Stars, Loss

I start to count them and stop
Not because there are too many
But because I cannot hold them
Accountable; the code sparkled
From their eternal glow calls
Me to be accountable to my life:
Precious. Let us look, son,
Out the window in quiet
Prayer for the loss, inexplicable,
That weighs down our hearts
Until sleep pardons us this day.
Tomorrow we can wake and run.


He Rebuilds a Lost Sister

I am all lost in the supermarket
While I look for my special Lego
Creation lost somewhere between
The gummies and the hot dogs.

Mommy looked all over the supermarket
She can’t find it but that is okay,
I can build another one, I know.
I know I can build another one.

I’ll need two shoulders and arm pieces
A chest shield, two legs and feet
One hand will wield the best sword
In the bin. This new creation will be cooler –

It will be the coolest. I am
Almost done building my new
My best! creation yet. But I cannot
Find the right mask.

I must have the right mask.
I cannot find the mask.
Daddy help me find a mask

Daddy I just want my creation to sit up.
Daddy I just want my creation to take its first step.
Daddy I just want my creation to say its first word.
Daddy I just want my creation to live.

Daddy, please, help me find the right mask.

Please help me, Daddy,

I need my mask.


The Final Question He Asked Me (An Answer in Verse)

Dad, I have something to tell you, says the boy
Quiet as a mouse, sitting on the couch, waiting,
The room, finally still enough for him to be heard
His heart, finally hard enough for him to open.

I watch as Mom delivers your shake, you try, but
Cannot swallow, you smile, though its corners dip
A little bit too soon. Your nightingale measures O 2,
Listens to your heart, and reviews the day’s events.

The gentle man from Brazil bathes you as gently
As I imagine you bathed me, if I could remember.
I see in your eyes the flickering flame of fight
And know I must hold your hand one more time.

The grip, still strong like your hug, provides a final
Lesson: while we can still breathe, we must live,
And now I shall be as subtle as Bly or Aesop:

To live, to truly live, we must do one thing: Love.

~ S. Francis
 ~ from SailorPoet


Above poem is a part of our latest creation ‘Family’.

Haven’t read the compilation yet?

You can find it HERE (click)

Your Art in the Spotlight

A beautiful piece of art by: Andy ~ Poetry is my aeroplane


I beg your pardon

Once more I found myself

Wedged into a cycle of regret.

The lessons learned from times past

Eluded me in my time of need –

No witty reply,

No clever riposte

Escaped my gaping mouth…

Until I got home with time to stew –

Mentally running scenarios, and

Creating unspoken witticisms.


One day I’ll be prepared

For the audacity of my fellow man.



Original posted: HERE

Your Art in the Spotlight

Happy to inform you, dear reader, we have a new art-family member and what better way to introduce him by …

… a beautiful piece of art by: Eric Syrdal


The background noise you hear
is the screaming of my soul
amplified and echoing over the eons
it is a constant cacophony within my skull
it is the traumatized keening
of a tortured mind on fire
it is my desperate attempt to make sense
of this
circus you call reality
it is my subconscious trying to reason with these
Wonderlandian rules that you have created
spilled out upon pages of black and white checkerboard
some words fit
other words don’t
some words will be seen
other words won’t
I can hear my heart’s maniacal giggling
almost a child’s sing-song story nursery rhyme
about being careful
to watch your step
and falling anyway
because the flagstones are wet parchment and marshmallow fluff
your Carrollean jubjub bird
has a sharp beak
and I can hear the bandersnatch within the thicket grove
growling for a feast at my throat
I am no stranger to wounds
I have bound myself together more times than I can count
never with cloth
always with steel and leather
until I disappear behind lays of protection so thick
no one knows my face, not even the mirror
you believe you control my image
you have given me the biceps of Athena
the sway of Aphrodite in my hips
the power of Boudica in my stride
the angle of Joan D’arc in my jaw
yet now you think you can hold me here?
in this tiny box you balance in your outstretched palm
because my cheek bones cannot cut glass?
because I choose the sword over the milk pail?
because I fight for my sisters instead of mourn their fate?
make no mistake
under this armor lies the heart of a goddess
starkly defended by the blade of a she-wolf


Original posted: HERE