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And There Will Your Heart Be Also
2023 - 60x40cm - Ink on Wood
(Private Collection)
We must suffer
To free our pain
Can you help us
To find our way
You're here to stay
Stay here in paradise
I'd end this moment
To be with you
Through morphic oceans
I'd lay here with you
Only to stay
Stay here in paradise
Only to stay son
Lonely from this maelstrom
Free are you
From this maelstrom
To be with you
C.Mccoy
(Private Collection)
We must suffer
To free our pain
Can you help us
To find our way
You're here to stay
Stay here in paradise
I'd end this moment
To be with you
Through morphic oceans
I'd lay here with you
Only to stay
Stay here in paradise
Only to stay son
Lonely from this maelstrom
Free are you
From this maelstrom
To be with you
C.Mccoy
Glaucoma
2024 - 21x30cm tryptic - Mixed Media on Paper
(Private Collection)
(Private Collection)
Les Fleurs III
2024 - 10x20cm - two pieces - Ink on Wood
(Private Collection)
(Private Collection)
The Break
2024 - 21x30cm - Ink on Paper
Les Fleurs V
2024 - 25x30cm - Ink on Wood
(Private Collection)
(Private Collection)
Mirror Reaper
2025 - 40x80cm - Ink and Oils on Wooden Plate
THE MOMENTS REPOSE
AWOKE EYES OF ICE
IN VISON FROZE, FROZE
THE MELTING WORLD
ALL IS AROUND
BUT WITHIN IS BARREN, IS BARREN
Drying the water
Anchor me in ice
Mirror of the reaper
The arrow of my eyes...
THE MOMENTS REPOSE
AWOKE EYES OF ICE
IN VISON FROZE, FROZE
THE MELTING WORLD
ALL IS AROUND
BUT WITHIN IS BARREN, IS BARREN
Drying the water
Anchor me in ice
Mirror of the reaper
The arrow of my eyes...
If time were fleeting,
The heralds to let go,
But time is water
Freezing as it flows
Slow, beating pendulum
Don’t measure time
I’ll sink the heavens
While reaching for the dawn
Seven eyes sewn open, bestows
As above, so below
Water mirrors and the stillness grows…
The heralds to let go,
But time is water
Freezing as it flows
Slow, beating pendulum
Don’t measure time
I’ll sink the heavens
While reaching for the dawn
Seven eyes sewn open, bestows
As above, so below
Water mirrors and the stillness grows…
In to seven more unseeing
The bondage throne
THE WAVES THAT SHORE
TWO THIRSTY HANDS
SWING A NEEDLE OF BLOOD
TO BIND ME
TO BIND ME
WEAVING THE OCEAN
THROUGH WHICH I FLOOD
THE HEAVEN OF BLOOD
TO BIND ME
I’M BOUND TO
WAVES
THE WAVES OF NO SHORE...
The bondage throne
THE WAVES THAT SHORE
TWO THIRSTY HANDS
SWING A NEEDLE OF BLOOD
TO BIND ME
TO BIND ME
WEAVING THE OCEAN
THROUGH WHICH I FLOOD
THE HEAVEN OF BLOOD
TO BIND ME
I’M BOUND TO
WAVES
THE WAVES OF NO SHORE...
FLOODS THAT SLEEVE
THE REACH OF THE DROUGHT
TO BLEED EVERMORE
EMPTY ME
EMPTY ME
ASH OF THE OCEAN
Sewing
TO BIND ME
Sewing needle of drought
TO BIND ME
Weaving
WEAVING THE OCEAN
Weaving pendulum
HANGING, WEAVING THE GROUND
A BREATHLESS FABRIC OF FLOATING ASHES
TIED, AND THEN REWOUND
REIGNED,
WEAVED IN THE NEEDLE
THE CYCLE TURNS AROUND
AIR, BURNT TO ASHEN MOUNTAINS
WEAVING THE GROUND
SWIMMING UNDERGROUND
PENDULUM,
SILENT GAVEL
OF TIME
ITS BURNING IN THE SKY...
THE REACH OF THE DROUGHT
TO BLEED EVERMORE
EMPTY ME
EMPTY ME
ASH OF THE OCEAN
Sewing
TO BIND ME
Sewing needle of drought
TO BIND ME
Weaving
WEAVING THE OCEAN
Weaving pendulum
HANGING, WEAVING THE GROUND
A BREATHLESS FABRIC OF FLOATING ASHES
TIED, AND THEN REWOUND
REIGNED,
WEAVED IN THE NEEDLE
THE CYCLE TURNS AROUND
AIR, BURNT TO ASHEN MOUNTAINS
WEAVING THE GROUND
SWIMMING UNDERGROUND
PENDULUM,
SILENT GAVEL
OF TIME
ITS BURNING IN THE SKY...
Be not where you lay lest the bond be broken
Vanish where you stay
Timeless in the well lest the song is spoken
Over for the sell
Eye of the cold
Will scald in the fold
Higher than low
Vanish where you stay
Timeless in the well lest the song is spoken
Over for the sell
Eye of the cold
Will scald in the fold
Higher than low
Dripping from the scene lest the scalding ocean
Is drowning all the trees
Time to fall this cell
Know the name of harrowed
With it you'll do well
The crane that only felt was never seen as spoken
It's vanished from my self
The tame you would arise
Formulate the harrowed
Vanish in the I
Vanish in the eyes
Vanish from the sky...
Is drowning all the trees
Time to fall this cell
Know the name of harrowed
With it you'll do well
The crane that only felt was never seen as spoken
It's vanished from my self
The tame you would arise
Formulate the harrowed
Vanish in the I
Vanish in the eyes
Vanish from the sky...
The stain that only sees
Crawl like rain
Is only led through harrowed...
For disdain
Crawl like rain
Is only led through harrowed...
For disdain
When practiced at the dream
When nothing's left to see
Nought to feign
Call the name upon this floor
Nor to drain
Know that it is more
And opened in the shallows
None for sane
When nothing could be more
But for more
When nothing could be more
Burn the core
You see the final shore
From before
Bleed beyond the pour
Last of lore
Drip upon the floor
Seen as more
Vanish for the more
Told it well
Called beyond the well
Then tore the shell
Led beyond the chill
When nothing held
When nothing's left to see
Nought to feign
Call the name upon this floor
Nor to drain
Know that it is more
And opened in the shallows
None for sane
When nothing could be more
But for more
When nothing could be more
Burn the core
You see the final shore
From before
Bleed beyond the pour
Last of lore
Drip upon the floor
Seen as more
Vanish for the more
Told it well
Called beyond the well
Then tore the shell
Led beyond the chill
When nothing held
Stone the moon as well
But something fell
For which you could have found
But something fell
For which you could have found
Float the moon as well…
Flow the moon as well…
All who strayed beyond the shadows have nothing to disdain
All that soared away from reason were held aloft in sway
All that’s widening the narrows will crumble to decay...
Flow the moon as well…
All who strayed beyond the shadows have nothing to disdain
All that soared away from reason were held aloft in sway
All that’s widening the narrows will crumble to decay...
Lie of the sold
Would warm in the cold
Desire will hold
If the motion
Lied and light had froze
Might of the fever
Hold my eyes to know...
Would warm in the cold
Desire will hold
If the motion
Lied and light had froze
Might of the fever
Hold my eyes to know...
Dry the waves
Anchor ice
Mirror reaper
Arrowed eyes
An ice of pieces
Of what was once there,
The skin of being
Flayed as though
The air
Dry the land
Anchor sand
Mirror reaper
Gallows stand
Slow the heart
Still the tide
Sink the heavens
From the sky...
All that laid upon this hallowed yet crumbling domain
All who strayed beyond the shadows have nothing to disdain...
This cycle thus froze
When seeking all repose
The thawing of peace
Drips backward to the freeze
Now motion lies still
With nought left for the kill
A fever long boiled
And venom to recoil...
The pendulum slows
Then stilled under the cold
In absence he flies
In presence we will writhe
Bell Witch
Anchor ice
Mirror reaper
Arrowed eyes
An ice of pieces
Of what was once there,
The skin of being
Flayed as though
The air
Dry the land
Anchor sand
Mirror reaper
Gallows stand
Slow the heart
Still the tide
Sink the heavens
From the sky...
All that laid upon this hallowed yet crumbling domain
All who strayed beyond the shadows have nothing to disdain...
This cycle thus froze
When seeking all repose
The thawing of peace
Drips backward to the freeze
Now motion lies still
With nought left for the kill
A fever long boiled
And venom to recoil...
The pendulum slows
Then stilled under the cold
In absence he flies
In presence we will writhe
Bell Witch
Les Fleurs IV
2024 - 30x25cm - Mixed on Wood
(Private Collection)
There is something about the rigid posture of a proper, authentic blind
As if extended arms reached to pass his blindness onto others.
Mgła
Contemple-les, mon âme; ils sont vraiment affreux!
Pareils aux mannequins; vaguement ridicules;
Terribles, singuliers comme les somnambules;
Dardant on ne sait où leurs globes ténébreux.
Leurs yeux, d'où la divine étincelle est partie,
Comme s'ils regardaient au loin, restent levés
Au ciel; on ne les voit jamais vers les pavés
Pencher rêveusement leur tête appesantie.
Ils traversent ainsi le noir illimité,
Ce frère du silence éternel. Ô cité!
Pendant qu'autour de nous tu chantes, ris et beugles,
Eprise du plaisir jusqu'à l'atrocité,
Vois! je me traîne aussi! mais, plus qu'eux hébété,
Je dis: Que cherchent-ils au Ciel, tous ces aveugles?
C. Baudelaire
(Private Collection)
There is something about the rigid posture of a proper, authentic blind
As if extended arms reached to pass his blindness onto others.
Mgła
Contemple-les, mon âme; ils sont vraiment affreux!
Pareils aux mannequins; vaguement ridicules;
Terribles, singuliers comme les somnambules;
Dardant on ne sait où leurs globes ténébreux.
Leurs yeux, d'où la divine étincelle est partie,
Comme s'ils regardaient au loin, restent levés
Au ciel; on ne les voit jamais vers les pavés
Pencher rêveusement leur tête appesantie.
Ils traversent ainsi le noir illimité,
Ce frère du silence éternel. Ô cité!
Pendant qu'autour de nous tu chantes, ris et beugles,
Eprise du plaisir jusqu'à l'atrocité,
Vois! je me traîne aussi! mais, plus qu'eux hébété,
Je dis: Que cherchent-ils au Ciel, tous ces aveugles?
C. Baudelaire
To Be Drowned
2023 - 60x40cm - Ink on Wood
Phosphorus
2022 - 44x74cm - Mixed Media on Canvas
(Private Collection)
(Private Collection)
“Where does music go when it’s not playing?
—she asked herself. And disarmed she would answer:
May they make a harp out of my nerves when I die."
Clarice Lispector
Clarice Lispector
Kill the Men, F*ck the Dogs
2016 - 160x100cm - Oil on canvas
(lost item)
(lost item)
Kill the men, f*ck the dogs
2016 - 160x100cm - Oil on canvas
(lost item)
(lost item)
Les Fleurs II
2024 - 20x10cm, two pieces, Ink on Wood
(Private Collection)
(Private Collection)
Lokal
2018/2024 - 112x160cm - Oil on Canvas
(Private Collection)
(Private Collection)
Les Fleurs I
2024 - 20x30cm - Ink on Wood
(Private Collection)
(Private Collection)
Autoportrait
2023 - 100x150cm - Ink on Canvas
An Autoportrait?
...but the head is fractured…
is it though? There are so many pieces. When they stare at each other, they don't even recognize one another! ...and they just keep on fragmenting and fracturing into dust and then particles until the meaning is no more.
Without meaning, there is no "value". When there are no places to put your values on, inevitability sets you so light that your feet become unnecessary. I believed that this was what it meant to die: to be fragmented into dust, to become unrecognizable by the thing you called "yourself". It's like waking up one night and sincerely believing that you were an owl for a good five or ten minutes... Your talons, your beak and everythingelse... Everything before that was a dream dreamt by the very owl. A dream fading into dust, to ashes... or thinking that you were a zinc plate for eternity... Do they even think? They do reflect soundwaves for sure... Who cares?.. You'll tell yourself that material can not have comprehension or ability to think; yet here we are.
Being dead or non-existent is a conception I can only deduce in manipulations at best. There is nothing better to do than to manipulate in Hell- a corpse that can walk, but all worms in Hell decline to touch it: think of a wet specimen that is from a world of formaldehyde. No matter how much coal you add, the flames of Hell don't seem to disintegrate it.
A corpse that wishes for a coma... yet the morning comes as light and burns its eyes.
An Autoportrait?
...but the head is fractured…
is it though? There are so many pieces. When they stare at each other, they don't even recognize one another! ...and they just keep on fragmenting and fracturing into dust and then particles until the meaning is no more.
Without meaning, there is no "value". When there are no places to put your values on, inevitability sets you so light that your feet become unnecessary. I believed that this was what it meant to die: to be fragmented into dust, to become unrecognizable by the thing you called "yourself". It's like waking up one night and sincerely believing that you were an owl for a good five or ten minutes... Your talons, your beak and everythingelse... Everything before that was a dream dreamt by the very owl. A dream fading into dust, to ashes... or thinking that you were a zinc plate for eternity... Do they even think? They do reflect soundwaves for sure... Who cares?.. You'll tell yourself that material can not have comprehension or ability to think; yet here we are.
Being dead or non-existent is a conception I can only deduce in manipulations at best. There is nothing better to do than to manipulate in Hell- a corpse that can walk, but all worms in Hell decline to touch it: think of a wet specimen that is from a world of formaldehyde. No matter how much coal you add, the flames of Hell don't seem to disintegrate it.
A corpse that wishes for a coma... yet the morning comes as light and burns its eyes.
An Autoportrait?
...but the head is fractured…
...but the head is fractured…
...is it though? There are so many pieces. When they stare at each other, they don't even recognize one another! ...and they just keep on fragmenting and fracturing into dust and then particles until the meaning is no more.
...
...
...Without meaning, there is no "value". When there are no places to put your values on, inevitability sets you so light that your feet become unnecessary. I believed that this was what it meant to die: to be fragmented into dust, to become unrecognizable by the thing you called "yourself". It's like waking up one night and sincerely believing that you were an owl for a good five or ten minutes..
...Your talons, your beak and everythingelse... Everything before that was a dream dreamt by the very owl. A dream fading into dust, to ashes... or thinking that you were a zinc plate for eternity... Do they even think? They do reflect soundwaves for sure... Who cares?.. You'll tell yourself that material can not have comprehension or ability to think; yet here we are.
...
...
...Being dead or non-existent is a conception I can only deduce in manipulations at best. There is nothing better to do than to manipulate in Hell- a corpse that can walk, but all worms in Hell decline to touch it: think of a wet specimen that is from a world of formaldehyde. No matter how much coal you add, the flames of Hell don't seem to disintegrate it.
...
...
...A corpse that wishes for a coma...
...yet the morning comes as light and burns its eyes.
Les Fleurs 0
2024 - 20x20cm - Ink on Wood
(Private Collection)
“Sometimes I wish I were a cannibal – less for the pleasure of eating someone than for the pleasure of vomiting him.”
E. Cioran
(Private Collection)
“Sometimes I wish I were a cannibal – less for the pleasure of eating someone than for the pleasure of vomiting him.”
E. Cioran
Devolution
2020 - 60x40 - Ink on Canvas
(Private Collection)
(Private Collection)
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