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About Traditional Art / Student Louie DarangMale/United States Recent Activity
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self portrait by Philliewig self portrait :iconphilliewig:Philliewig 5 2 song of chevron by Philliewig song of chevron :iconphilliewig:Philliewig 26 8
Literature
troy ounces
Father, how our circumstances have changed.
Remind me, as
I'm honestly insincere;
We weigh words in troy ounces,
Waiting in the drone hours.
Waiting within the drone hour.
Father, how our circumstances have changed,
Playing at sheep among the wolves.
We toast to these bigger and better things
Drinks clinked at the grown-up table,
Weighing these words in troy ounces.
Here we are
Breathing sighs of relief in the drone hour
While bombs fall overhead,
weighed down in troy ounces
at the table we share.
We weigh words down with troy ounces,
daring to live where ghouls dare not tread,
Calling it paradise
Under naked trees.
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untitled by Philliewig untitled :iconphilliewig:Philliewig 24 5
Literature
Seattle syndrome
My god, when they'd say
We're all the lucky ones
When they'll say
We're the fortunate ones
While here we're stigmatic
Bleeding to the sound of drums.
We are the medicated ones;
The dedicated ones,
Stricken with the Seattle syndrome,
Praying for heroin and heroines
All within the confines of a shot glass.
We are the pretenders
To the bone and satin throne;
I am light suspended,
The anhedonic imbecile,
Symptomatic of the fattened men,
Of weary men.
We are the stricken ones,
The afflicted ones.
Here we are as a thousand suns
At home under the naked trees,
Hand over fist below the king of hearts
And the queen of clubs.
Here we glorify the dying life,
And deify the sullen;
Wasting hours edifying those stricken
All for favor of venerating the dead.
Here we are:
And neither bang nor whimper could
Show us strength in these spring morning rains,
Gray waters thrown together in duffle bags-
So carrion serves to announce our arrival
In thunderclaps and dull roars;
Pale ghosts cast aside
Between th
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La vie en rose by Philliewig La vie en rose :iconphilliewig:Philliewig 23 3
Literature
sin-eater
How I wish to be a sin eater,
Here among silent faces
Here in this place of a thousand suns
Here where only the wild ones grow.
Here I'd wish to be a sin eater,
Where neatly hung up, rows of crosses-
How I'd wish to be your sin eater
Where only white lilacs bloom,
Where I'd come up for air
-where I'd go and find them there.
But here I'd like to lay a while:
Neither I nor you in satin there,
Confessed things, professed things-
All in all to precipitate
The growing silence.
And here I'd like to lay a while
And how I'd like to take you away,
Some day before the drone hour,
Out there beyond the stone flowers.
And how I wish to be a sin eater,
How I'd wish for us to be brave;
One by one the lights go down
Until at last
These northern lights are snuffed.
And now eyes that may never meet
Hands which would never meet
Are clasped under the brave new skies;
They shudder in a brave new world.
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Literature
Lacrimosa VII
VII: Requiem Lacrimosa
Find me there among those stone flowers,
Indexed between Duchamp and Camus;
May we give our regards to the dead
And move on.
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Literature
Lacrimosa VI
VI: the falling
We had their calling cards, and they ours now.
We assumed there were words for these,
When they all knew there was one.
But only once before entropy
Swallow us whole
Would they cradle me,
Amid the yellowed flowers, there
Fixed there among the stone flowers.
But all these things,
Arranged by time, name, place,
We disregard to feed the growing smoke,
All in all to feed the growing smoke.
So call me an optimist
For all that I knew;
Drawn out on canvas,
Like my passe suicide-
There was nothing quite like that
Which we would create,
Freefalling in our panoply of glass
and stars.
I beg you to see me,
To save me.
So call me an optimist
For the things I drew,
All with indelible black ink
All written in these yellowed pages
In which I wish I knew the words
With which to reach back again,
To reach back out again
To ask you to touch my heart.
I cry out,
In freefall I beg,
If only you would see me,
If only we weren't shadow;
All these things in the black ink,
Written in the yellowe
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Literature
Lacrimosa V
V: the worshipped
Here, eyes grow heavy with silence
But only here, they'd call you by name:
SIN EATER
And only here would they call you by name,
Here at the end of all things.
Here in this place of dreams
We are wonderfully restless
Swirling within this panoply of stars,
Swirling-
Here we sang as the sun went down,
When for a long while we pray to you
Our heroin goddess:
All these and more in the drone hour.
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Literature
Lacrimosa IV
IV: storms
Thrown up on the rocks,
The mad summer tides
Smashed there upon those rocks-
These are the nights that may never end,
All things live from the panopticon;
Those were the nights that would never end.
They tell us to be still like a mist,
But I came in as a light rain.
But they saw me as I came into the light,
And once upon a time, they'd thought
He'd simply rolled in, that oncoming storm;
And once in a while
This life came down as Tuesday's light rain
In these places where it's all the same
These few places where dahlias dare to grow-
All for favor of the drowned.
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Literature
Lacrimosa III
III: the unsaid
Daily in the mornings
Our gazes fall as a glacier,
Suffocating under pooling thoughts
For all that we are,
neatly tied down, wrapped up
In lambskins.
And here in our Friday afternoons,
Our gazes fall as ashes,
Suffocating all our pooling thoughts
Of all that we are,
Things neatly tied, wrapped together
In lambskins.
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Literature
Lacrimosa II
II: denials
Paralyzed in a moment
I throw your name into the wind,
Writing it there in indelible black ink.
I think of you as I start the car,
I think of you before I go.
Yet behind these smudged glass frames,
I conduct illusions
Of sin and pride,
Speeding off into the distance.
I polish my secrets like the fine silver,
As something thrown out like a car bomb
On a Friday afternoon.
What am I but divvied out
With shallow, rusted tablespoons
Here or there in the drone hour-
They will never catch me now.
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Literature
Lacrimosa I
I: a suicide
I throw myself into freefall.
Pressed against those smudged glass frames,
Further, further;
The shattering of thin ice,
Only now when
February snow falls as ashes.
I threw myself into freefall,
And here beyond all things,
We are unstoppable.
Our bodies falling as morning dew
Mine as dry riverstone
I pray that you catch on the wind
I pray that you catch on the winds.
And I'd throw myself there into freefall,
Swirling within my panoply of broken glass,
Swirling-
Coming back to earth as a light rain.
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Borealis by Philliewig Borealis :iconphilliewig:Philliewig 20 4
Literature
les malencontreux
Amid the yellowed flowers there,
I dream of pursuit and of folly;
Furrowed, furrowed,
Pursuing all that was worth pursuing.
    I stood there, once.
    I chose to love, a little.
And lying in this bed, periwinkle summer skies
Framing them all we had to offer;
This dreamer of the dreams worth dreaming,
But would they cradle me, now?
Would they dare comfort me with their warmth?
When all things are written in yellowed pages,
Pasted up behind these smudged glass frames?
And what of dreams, like glacier sheets,
And overcome with all I have to offer?
Pursuer, creator!- I dare dream of beauty here.
    And forever, I chased your blue-green light,
    Behind and around those bowered,
    I dreamed again of you, there,
    Behind that smudged glass door.
But here we are again, les malencontreux:
The wild ones, dreaming once of Versaille.
And here we are again, my friend,
We unfortunate ones;
Standing there, stolen, still,
Amid these
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Good news, everyone!

Wed Jan 8, 2014, 7:19 PM by Philliewig:iconphilliewig:
:icongoodnewsplz:

I'm all sorts of ecstatic right now.. so a couple of weeks ago, I'd gotten a personal message through my Facebook art page from someone at Art Crasher, an online gallery and art blog; and they were interested in including my work in a live show in San Francisco this coming February! After doing some checking to make sure I wasn't walking into some sort of scam, I promptly replied, and lo and behold, my work is going to be in the show :D

I feel like I'm getting back on the horse again, artistically. After a bunch of disappointments with state and national art competitions, and not being able to go to the art school of my dreams, I feel like this might really be the turning point. I think it's time to start getting credible, and to start winning things again. I am a dummy! 


  • Listening to: St. John Passion - JS Bach
  • Eating: Jello cup
  • Drinking: Jasmine tea

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Philliewig's Profile Picture
Philliewig
Louie Darang
Artist | Student | Traditional Art
United States
I'm a multimedia artist, musician and writer from Minnesota.

"-'What is art to you?'
Something that elicits a response from the viewer AND the artist, be it emotional, psychological, intellectual, physical, etc. The key thing is that there must be a connection between the piece and BOTH the artist and the viewer. I feel that an 'artist' is someone who can make that emotional investment into a piece and share that attachment with the public. I personally respect the more avant-garde art styles more than traditional representational styles, simply because it is harder to elicit that crucial response from the viewer, and much, much harder to form that bond with the piece as an artist."

Ever since I've started painting and creating what I consider to be 'art', a lot of people have asked me "why?" and "how?". When I paint, I try to capture the essence of the moment I'm in. I try to create something that will elicit an emotional reaction from the viewer. The deconstruction of figures, scenes and objects are intentional to leave everything to the interpretation of the viewer. The less I show and the more I suggest and imply, the more I put into the hands of the individual viewer. The more ambigious the piece is (in my opinion), the more the viewer can put of themselves into the interpretation. Often, this interpretation dramatically differs from my personal feelings to any given piece. Where I see pain, others might see happiness. Where I express anger, others interpret peace.
During the creation process, I emotionally compromise myself to open that door that so many insist on keeping sealed shut. I let out all the pent up rage, depression, anxiety and insecurity and pour it onto the palette and onto the canvas. I generally don't plan works out (in fact, I try to avoid preplanning), as I feel that act of planning kills the spontanious energy that I seek in my pieces. I let the piece work itself out, making on-the-spot decisions on what I'll do next, what steps to take and what ideas I want to get across.
I don't create because I want to get famous, get rich or anything like that. I create because I have to. The catharsis I experience while creating is unlike anything I've ever felt, and I need that catharsis to survive. In viewing my work, you are taking a revealing look into how I view this world of ours.
Welcome to my perception of our reality.
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:icondanstefan:
DanStefan Featured By Owner Oct 27, 2016   Photographer
Happy birthday  !
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:iconthesvetislav:
thesvetislav Featured By Owner Oct 27, 2016
Happy Birthday!
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:icondragunalb:
Dragunalb Featured By Owner Jan 17, 2016  Student Traditional Artist
Thanks for the fave on =)
Radierung 1 by Dragunalb
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:iconthesvetislav:
thesvetislav Featured By Owner Oct 27, 2015
Happy Birthday!
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:iconrichardcgreen:
richardcgreen Featured By Owner Oct 27, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
HAPPY bIRthdaY!! Louie!!!
Richard
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