| Author: | Laure Keyrouz | ISBN: | 9781491802915 |
| Publisher: | AuthorHouse UK | Publication: | September 5, 2013 |
| Imprint: | AuthorHouse UK | Language: | English |
| Author: | Laure Keyrouz |
| ISBN: | 9781491802915 |
| Publisher: | AuthorHouse UK |
| Publication: | September 5, 2013 |
| Imprint: | AuthorHouse UK |
| Language: | English |
The experiences of a young poetess and artist coming from the age of war and universal deceit are transformed into battles of thoughts and quietly drifting images, only to set the mind on a visualization and sensation time-bomb. The clashes of imagery harmonized with her expression present a depth that can only be witnessed by the movement of a painters brush or a sculptors fingers. Through her multi-artistic vision and multi-cultural background, Laure Keyrouz makes it easier to grasp a certain notion or tone of expression, and so it feels almost like watching art rather than reading it. I and you ink and stone... A blind winter knitting our breaths with the scythe [] We stand with spider masks, Valleys blushing at our rumbling, The prayer kneels amongst us, A harp buries our bells, Exploding from a birds hideaway Concealing its throat on a wooden board, And the rain shower fearlessly eating into our past.
The experiences of a young poetess and artist coming from the age of war and universal deceit are transformed into battles of thoughts and quietly drifting images, only to set the mind on a visualization and sensation time-bomb. The clashes of imagery harmonized with her expression present a depth that can only be witnessed by the movement of a painters brush or a sculptors fingers. Through her multi-artistic vision and multi-cultural background, Laure Keyrouz makes it easier to grasp a certain notion or tone of expression, and so it feels almost like watching art rather than reading it. I and you ink and stone... A blind winter knitting our breaths with the scythe [] We stand with spider masks, Valleys blushing at our rumbling, The prayer kneels amongst us, A harp buries our bells, Exploding from a birds hideaway Concealing its throat on a wooden board, And the rain shower fearlessly eating into our past.
