Nikolai Triik , Hunt , 1913

Nikolai Triik , In front of rising youth, 1909

Yang Se-Eun, Love Begins With A Gaze, 2017

Depeche Mode, Dressed in Black

Lee Moses, Bad Girl

Moses Coltrane, Bad Man

James Gale Tyler, Ships Sailing by Moonlight, late 19th century, early 20th century

Manuel Cosentino, Behind A Little House, 1980

“A man must dream a long time in order to act with grandeur, and dreaming is nursed in darkness.” ~ Jean Genet

"Art Is a Way Out. Do not let life overwhelm you. When the old paths are choked with the débris of failure, look for newer and fresher paths. Art is just such a path. Art is distilled from suffering.” ~ Nathanael West

Rowland S. Howard, Pop crimes

Teenage Fanclub, De La Soul Fallin'

Stanisław Szukalski, Copernicus , 1970

Mayakovsky by Frank O’Hara

1
My heart’s aflutter!
I am standing in the bath tub
crying. Mother, mother
who am I? If he
will just come back once
and kiss me on the face
his coarse hair brush
my temple, it’s throbbing!

then I can put on my clothes
I guess, and walk the streets.

2
I love you. I love you,
but I’m turning to my verses
and my heart is closing
like a fist.

Words! be
sick as I am sick, swoon,
roll back your eyes, a pool,

and I’ll stare down
at my wounded beauty
which at best is only a talent
for poetry.

Cannot please, cannot charm or win
what a poet!
and the clear water is thick

with bloody blows on its head.
I embrace a cloud,
but when I soared
it rained.

3
That’s funny! there’s blood on my chest
oh yes, I’ve been carrying bricks
what a funny place to rupture!
and now it is raining on the ailanthus
as I step out onto the window ledge
the tracks below me are smoky and
glistening with a passion for running
I leap into the leaves, green like the sea

4
Now I am quietly waiting for
the catastrophe of my personality
to seem beautiful again,
and interesting, and modern.

The country is grey and
brown and white in trees,
snows and skies of laughter
always diminishing, less funny
not just darker, not just grey.

It may be the coldest day of
the year, what does he think of
that? I mean, what do I? And if I do,
perhaps I am myself again.

Carl Jung

Stanisław Szukalski, Struggle , 1917

Félix de Boeck , Nachtlichten: Lucht en water , 1953