Featured: Lady of December
Disguising the MaskDisguising the Mask: Batman the Trickster
Mark of Cahim
Rosemary for Remembrance
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Disguising the Mask
Disguising the Mask: Batman the Trickster
it rose into space, its wings spread wide, then fell, its wings now a fluttering cape wrapped tight about the body of a man.- Frank Miller, Batman: Year One.
For years, he has been a seminal figure among comic book heroes. He is the masked avenger of Bob Kane and Bill Fingers Detective Comics, the Dark Knight of Frank Millers Batman: Year One, and a memorable inspiration among pop culture icons since his inception in 1939 (Steranko 42). At first, he was created solely as a reaction to provide a foil to DCs straight arrow Superman; but as his popularity grew and continued, there appeared something deeper in his stories, something endearing. The Batman, a figure swathed in black, captured our imagination with his singular quest for vengeance and uniquely inspiring look. In the once flourishing uptown of the dilapidated metropolis of Gotham city, gunshots rang out changing the life of young Bruce Wayne, who swor
Mark of Cahim
He remembered the shepherd's eyes, the sun-creased skin beneath them orange and cracked like baked sand. The man had pleaded with him, drawing tears from eyes so worn by exposure that it seemed impossible to draw anything from them. His son was dead, he had said, taken by a beast a fortnight ago along with three others. The magistrates of the poor district had done nothing just as the man's claims had gone unheard until the day he'd been brave enough to beg at the Prince's feet during a feast day's procession.
"It took my son!" The shepherd rasped in a desperate sputtering of words. "No father should send his son beneath the sands!"
Prince Ramah remembered that look just as he remembered the empty hollow in Sabylla's eyes the night she gave birth to a stillborn son. Their hopes and dreams of a future had been taken from them in a quiet bundle of spoiled rags never once given the chance to learn how to ride a stallion or
Rosemary for Remembrance
Rosemary for Remembrance: The Metaphor of Flowers in Shakespeare's Hamlet
There on the pendent boughs her cornet weeds
Clamb'ring to hang, an envious sliver broke,
When down her weedy trophies and herself
Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide
And mermaidlike awhile they bore her up. (Hamlet Act 4, Scene 7.)
In a surreal passage of speech, Queen Gertrude retells the somber death of Ophelia, who drowned herself in Shakespeare's Hamlet amongst the lush scenery of willows, nettles, and garlands. However, as an audience, we are not shown this scene until artist renditions of Shakespeare's work in later movements took the sublime of what we could not see and made it a tangible, emotive vista. Through the translation of script to play to art, the visual symbol of the flower remains a physical signifier of pathos and meaning in Hamlet through their link to Elizabethan folklore and emblem, which Shakespeare purposefully applied, as F.
"I cannot die."
The memory of the angel's voice cut through the fog of remembrance with the force of what seemed like an entire lifetime she'd forgotten.
All her thoughts froze at the sight of her fingers after she had absently wiped her nose. She wiped her nose again to find the same red substance present on her fingertips. It couldn't be blood, could it? Angelina frantically searched around, her eyes finally finding the dried spots of brown blood that dotted her pillow case and her night gown. She rushed to the bathroom, which was thankfully just through the shutter doors across from her bed. The light clicked on illuminating the pink marble walls and the mirror reflecting her haggard form. Angelina stared in shock at herself, at the stained cotton nightgown, at the little stream of blood that had mingled with the sweat on her chest most likely from the severe nosebleed she'd received while she was asleep. As she leaned forward over the cold sink to wash herself, she suddenly
Fields of Grass
Fields of Grass
Horse shit. Such utter horse shit. I haven't cursed in over ten years, but this horse shit has finally made me cross the line. I consider myself a person of high morals and I deserve better than this. What do they know? They were still picking their noses when I was diapering their bottoms and babysitting their children at family reunions. All I've done for them and this is how they repay me? With a one way ticket to this loony bin of a nursing home. I'm only 65 years old and still lively enough to give their kids a spanking! I can take care of myself. If I can raise four children and their grandkids, survive the Depression, and a divorce, then I can take care of myself.
They think that just because I accidentally slipped on the front step that I need more supervision. Wasn't having Crystal as a nurse enough? She was already enough invasion of my privacy as it already was. Just because I have Alzheimer's doesn't mean I'm stupid, no matter what the doctor's say. It's nat
05:00Time Lapse - Inking Lady of March AngelaSasser 4 0
02:00Time Lapse - Lady of the River Path AngelaSasser 3 0
02:00Time Lapse - Lady of Wishing Stars AngelaSasser 4 0
02:00Time Lapse - Lady of Veiled Roses AngelaSasser 2 0
05:07Time Lapse - Inking Lady of February's Line Art AngelaSasser 7 2
05:36TIME LAPSE Character Sheet - Kalara Vadras AngelaSasser 2 0