Hours go into the creation of a piece of art. With it, comes an outpouring of emotions, wild and vivid and open to interpretation. With every brush stroke or pen line, a story is told on the canvas.

 Working with artists, I can extract that story and write up an art narration to be featured next to the piece. This can be something original or a narration the artist already has in mind that needs the creative touch.

“Oasis”

Painting by Tertius Van Dyk

He held in his hands, a world of beauty that stretched the boundaries of possible. Man would speak of it, in wonderment, the wonders that Earth put on display and gasp at the surrealism of it. Mother Natureq, a magician of sorts, casting spellbinding colours across a sunset sky.

A greediness gripped man and he ripped through the land, laying down deep rooted foundations so that generations could thrive. Those roots ran deep and plagued the ones so delicately woven by Mother Nature.

But the hand held on tight, but a finger buckled by the pressure of man; who swallowed up the soil and spat out rancid concrete across serene landscapes. Cracks forked their way through like lightning as life left the Earth's surface.

Man spared no thought at the wild that existed between the cities and so bodies decomposed and leaves left the trees to die. Another finger buckled. The hand held on. But another broke. And another. And all that was left was one. One finger. And at the tip of it remained an oasis that wreaked of rot.

Man's attempt to replace and rebuild was a mere weak imitation to the true art that the world beheld. Deserts of death, frozen waters cracked by the toxic air, lifeless lands and bulging bare trees all took its place...

And so, the Finger of God, it collapsed and the hand was no more. What remains? A fabrication of what once was. Smoke and mirrors. An illusion. A false oasis.

“Time Breaks”

Painting by Tertius Van Dyk

Time Breaks.

Space between us.

I search my memories for meaning.

I'm disillusioned by emotion. Fabricated feeling formed by your scent, smile, slight lowering of the eyes when we talk. I read pages you wear on your skin that say words only I understand. But in my memory, it's hazy, are these images dreams? Did you feel it too?

I use time to hide my feelings. Hours move me further away from you. Days stretch the space between us until we are worlds apart. Separated by alien skies. I long for the power to freeze our moments. Feed me scraps of your voice... But it's lost, trampled on by a thousand others. Dispense hints of you scent... But it's lost, drowning in an ocean of others. Leave me fragments of your face. But...

Time. Move me further away from the memory of you. Harden my heart. Wait. Come back. Solidify, so we stay still in the shadow of our selves. I capture it in my closed, curved palms, the time we had, frozen now - I'm in a state of flux. The time we had. Frozen.

I make a fist. Time breaks. Shatters. Slips through fingertips. Swallowed by the Earth. Gone. You changed your ringtone to the song I like. Gone. I can't remember your name.

The lie. Time doesn't heal.

It breaks.

“Scarab Moon”

Painting by Tertius Van Dyk

A feast of lies to feed a nation,
TV screens for entertainment.
A rapturous applause rips through the skies,
Jubilant Houston as Russian spies.
Footprints. The crackling voice filtering to Earth.
Bullshit. The iconic images plastered the walls of the world.
Flags raised to touch the stars.
We made it beyond there, further than far!
Sputnik 1, Explorer nil
The farce escalates, further still
A giant ball in the sky,
On Earth a rolling ball of the lie, lie, lie...
A President declares,
Put more spaceships in the air
Dollar bills go soaring too
The ideology: The Russians must lose!
Mankind's achievements,
Womankind's bereavements.
Did we ever stop to consider,
That the desperation to deliver...
Caused...
(18 slain
Eternal pain
Remember the names?
Hang our heads in shame)
Roll it towards the horizon,
And let it burn up in the sun.
The race to be the dominant ones,
Has only just begun.

“Live Steel”

Painting by Tertius Van Dyk

The strength of a steel screw is the strength of my pain.

You whispered something that the breeze stole, took it further away from me. Silence consumed us. Features fell away. Blankness blinked back. A ghost appeared in your place. Floating on dust.

I spin to the sound of sobbing. Wrapped up in roots as barbed wire. Sharp. Deep. Cuts. Blood like tears trickle out of open wounds. And still I turn. And still you turn it.

And still I bleed.

From those wounds, the memory of it all pours out as I become tied up in grief - the light of the afternoon sun falling through the willows onto the ground we lay. Nights scented by street food as we use plastic forks to scoop up mouthfuls. Holding up bottles to the sound of music thumping out of heavy speakers. Gone.

Intertwined with the hurt of a lost love, the fading sight of your beauty, the dying pictures of our smiles and your stolen whispers.

Leave me here. Go. I'll bleed out.

I'll fade out.

“Tree House”

Painting by Tertius Van Dyk

I type with tears. Early morning confessions. Emotions from the dreams spilling over to first light. I am compelled by the guilt, the shame, the fear, the remorse and so I crack the wall of my comfort with my words. Until bricks and mortar collapse. Until truth is a broken house that all can see into.

Regret’s a bare tree, stripped of it’s leaves amongst a thriving forest. Deep rooted, there’s no escape. Skeleton branches want to be covered again. There’s no growth. Forgiveness? Not here. It exists in that infinite space between horizon and... nothing. The floor beneath my feet, dangerous grounds, so I suspend - but the chains of my reality keep me from lifting off into a sky of lies. I'm held to ransom by my act.

Forgiveness? Not here. It exists in that infinite space between horizon and...

Nothing.

“Stone Alone”

Painting by Tertius Van Dyk

In solitude. The softness of the wind on my skin, shedding my despair, cleaning my surface of angst, leaving it smooth. Pure. 

Thoughts are whispers, as loose as the flight of the distant birds, as gracious as their wing movements. Here, I can find meaning in them.

Immovable I am, as I kiss the surface of the shallow water. The elasticity of the horizon allows it to stretch out into eternity. I see it all. 

The air is blessed with a silence louder than the screams of my disquiet. The colours of the sky soothe my sight. The quiet in my ears. I hear it all.

Leave me here, where I can disguise myself, as a giant boulder, out of place but where I belong. 

“Once More unto the Breach”

Painting by Tertius Van Dyk

Once More unto the Breach

He points to the picture. What's that, he asks his dad. Dad gets down on one knee, places a hand around the boy's shoulder. A whale, son. They ruled the oceans once. Gentle giants, majestic in the way they would glide through the deep blue. The boy stares with wonderment. What happened to them?The boy asks. 

What were they up against, these magnificent mammals? Ships as mountains, roaring engines like starving lions, slicing through the seas surface at savage speeds. Nets as wide as islands, as tough as steel, cast across the surface, casting deathly shadows that capture fish. And, mankind. Driven by a desire to satisfy palates and bellies, driving spears into the hidden depths until blood is shed. All of that, a deadly combination that condemned the species to live in an afterlife.

Quite simply, the dad says, we stole the seas from them and now they are no more. And now pictures and videos are all that remain. Oh, if only you could see it. The breach. Once more. It was like an adrenaline rush the way they would burst through the surface when you would least expect it. All that power, all that strength, momentarily hanging in the air for all marvel at. The ocean's surface could be made of stone and they'd still emerge, victorious. The breach was a symbol of determination. Of hope. Of overcoming fear...

But there's still a chance. The whale still graces our seas. They are still among us and they can remain. Once more unto the breach.