Love and This Twin City

A Visual Conversation between two artists

The Four1One on Inspiration

Last night, my wonderful friend, and co-artist, and I met for coffee, and I brought up a criticism a friend gave me about this blog. He said, that while it’s a great idea, and an interesting way to have a conversation and artistic expression, it’s not really clear what the hell is going on here. After talking with Trungles, we agreed to provide a bit more context - and I’m essentially going to provide an explanation for what this venture means to me, and what initially enticed me into doing this.

After seeing A Polite Winter, thanks to Trungles, (http://www.politewinter.com/) we decided to try our hands at a visual conversation. Being the amateur and inexperienced photographer that I am, I thought what a unique way of getting experience, and creating a motivation for me to hit that shutter button. I felt that seeing the talent that Trungles has coming out of every cell in his hands would provide a challenge for me as well to grow with my new found hobby. 

This is also about collaboration and finding new ways with another person for expression through direct inspiration, as well as conversations about….well - life. Every time I see art from my partner in crime, I am inspired, whether it makes me think, take a picture, listen to music, or just stare into the colored abyss for extended periods of time. This blog is a way to showcase that inspiration, as well as challenge myself in creating art that is genuinely inspired and honest. That is what Love and This Twin City means to me.

I look forward to seeing what Trungles has to say on his end.

We walk through the cold night during the week when you care the most - it’s happened twice in one year. Doubt surfaces as ice carries my feet. We then talk layouts over steaming coffee, creating mutations, and an idealistic idea. 

We walk through the cold night during the week when you care the most - it’s happened twice in one year. Doubt surfaces as ice carries my feet. We then talk layouts over steaming coffee, creating mutations, and an idealistic idea. 

Love will solve all our problems. Love will only let you down. One single time can reinvigorate the poison. The heart swells, and all control is lost. Fighting until you get back to neutral, and the fear sets in for letting you feel that one word again. Sitting over steaming tea, listening to the one and only note that can destroy you.

Love will solve all our problems. Love will only let you down.

One single time can reinvigorate the poison. The heart swells, and all control is lost. Fighting until you get back to neutral, and the fear sets in for letting you feel that one word again. Sitting over steaming tea, listening to the one and only note that can destroy you.

I just wanted to see your face,to know the stranger at my side,who cradled my fingers in his palmas we lay sleeping. Did you know me already?Did you want me to know you?  Your arrow found me first,And the evening shroud liftedfrom around your angelic head,and my lips barely brushed yoursbefore I was betrayed by candlewick.  And now I have lost you.

I just wanted to see your face,
to know the stranger at my side,
who cradled my fingers in his palm
as we lay sleeping.

Did you know me already?
Did you want me to know you? 

Your arrow found me first,
And the evening shroud lifted
from around your angelic head,
and my lips barely brushed yours
before I was betrayed by candlewick. 

And now I have lost you.

The walk, the night, the snow. Are we strangers? Is this temporary or are we making it permanent. 

The walk, the night, the snow. Are we strangers? Is this temporary or are we making it permanent. 

On a particularly stormy night, the lamplight struggles to shine against billowing, salty curtains. For a moment, it is no different from the flicker of a candle, holding strong against a rogue autumn breeze. It was autumn in my heart, and the resolve of a candle was not enough.

On a particularly stormy night, the lamplight struggles to shine against billowing, salty curtains.

For a moment, it is no different from the flicker of a candle, holding strong against a rogue autumn breeze. It was autumn in my heart, and the resolve of a candle was not enough.

The light is shined on that which refuses to be seen clearly.

The light is shined on that which refuses to be seen clearly.

I had to know. Was he an angel or a monster? I waited till he slept and held the soft light of the lamp to his face. The brittle, wavering glow of the candle’s little flame illuminated the careful contours of his gentle face. I leaned into his lips and burned him with a kiss.

I had to know. Was he an angel or a monster?

I waited till he slept and held the soft light of the lamp to his face.

The brittle, wavering glow of the candle’s little flame illuminated the careful contours of his gentle face.

I leaned into his lips

and burned him with a kiss.

(Source: flavors.me)

It has begun. 

Welcome to a visual conversation.