344 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/02 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
He was a poet walking in a mystery full of himself like a stretched paragraph. The times tore thru his eyes cold and blunt with an air silently surrounding walls of statues and ghosts . In came dreams spread out like a magnet of prayer and sacrifice. Swam thru fantasies camouflaged in ritual and truth unlike most minds in the streets. He was a poet amongst himself, a dreamer sincere beaten by the scorn lying around. An Irish spirit, an Italian romance and German idealism pushing him towards some ridge amidst mountains of the arts. He never arrived, he never survived the split in the lowlands, tho he wove in and out of reality like a vine, possibly famous amongst the trees. Nothing became of his work. He was found, dead by a few and his words faded into the streets of modernism. This was a portrait of a young man as an artist in a world that didn’t exist, in times that bent beyond compare, in a dream dreamt alone.
Image circa Ireland 90’s