#visionaryart — Public Fediverse posts
Live and recent posts from across the Fediverse tagged #visionaryart, aggregated by home.social.
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How Do Angels Worship?
Not with harps.
Not always.
Sometimes
with teeth.
With wings held shut.
With eyes wide open.
With a thousand faces
turned toward
the unbearable.
They do not sing.
They tremble
in fearful quiet.
Holy.
A word like nails.
Driven once.
Again.
Again.
Holy.
The throne burns.
The floor breathes.
The pillars remember
every name
God has swallowed.
An angel kneels.
Or falls.
It is not always easy
to tell the difference.
Metallic wings drift
through the bright shadow
of storms.
Each one
still listening.
Each one
afraid to land.
Holy.
Some cover their faces.
Some cover their feet.
Some have no faces.
Some have only mouths.
One opens.
The stars recoil.
One whispers.
A city wakes
with blood
on its doorposts.
Is this praise?
The silence
after thunder?
The sword
returned to flame?
The hand
that does not strike?
Holy.
They circle
what cannot be
approached.
Nearer.
Nearer.
Never arriving.
Their worship
is orbit.
Their worship
is fever.
Their worship
is the long refusal
to look away.
And somewhere
beyond the burning,
one small angel
folds its wings,
leans into
the terrible light,
and patiently waits
for God
to breathe.
#Android #angelWorship #Angels #ArtificialIntelligence #celestialBeings #ChristianImagination #CyberAngel #cyberpunk #DigitalSpirituality #divinePresence #futuristic #futuristicCity #futuristicFaith #heavenlyCity #Prayer #roboticAngels #SacredTechnology #SciFi #ScienceFictionArt #speculativeTheology #surrealArt #technoSpiritual #transhuman #visionaryArt #Worship -
How Do Angels Worship?
Not with harps.
Not always.
Sometimes
with teeth.
With wings held shut.
With eyes wide open.
With a thousand faces
turned toward
the unbearable.
They do not sing.
They tremble
in fearful quiet.
Holy.
A word like nails.
Driven once.
Again.
Again.
Holy.
The throne burns.
The floor breathes.
The pillars remember
every name
God has swallowed.
An angel kneels.
Or falls.
It is not always easy
to tell the difference.
Metallic wings drift
through the bright shadow
of storms.
Each one
still listening.
Each one
afraid to land.
Holy.
Some cover their faces.
Some cover their feet.
Some have no faces.
Some have only mouths.
One opens.
The stars recoil.
One whispers.
A city wakes
with blood
on its doorposts.
Is this praise?
The silence
after thunder?
The sword
returned to flame?
The hand
that does not strike?
Holy.
They circle
what cannot be
approached.
Nearer.
Nearer.
Never arriving.
Their worship
is orbit.
Their worship
is fever.
Their worship
is the long refusal
to look away.
And somewhere
beyond the burning,
one small angel
folds its wings,
leans into
the terrible light,
and patiently waits
for God
to breathe.
#Android #angelWorship #Angels #ArtificialIntelligence #celestialBeings #ChristianImagination #CyberAngel #cyberpunk #DigitalSpirituality #divinePresence #futuristic #futuristicCity #futuristicFaith #heavenlyCity #Prayer #roboticAngels #SacredTechnology #SciFi #ScienceFictionArt #speculativeTheology #surrealArt #technoSpiritual #transhuman #visionaryArt #Worship -
"Starry Night," Wenzel August Hablik, 1909.
Hablik (1881-1934) was a German painter, graphic artist, architect, and craftsman who, along with others of the period, had a fascination with combining mysticism with science.
While some artists made abstracts of clouds or exploding suns, he created here an orderly vision of a swirling universe, all the stars and planets in a continual dance around a central point....which may be a divine Eye that keeps things going.
Many of Hablik's works shared a utopian vision, and a fascination with crystals and natural forms. Here, for instance, you can see the maybe-mountain in the foreground is covered with jutting crystals.
While so many explored abstract chaos, Hablik shows us here an orderly universe, a world with purpose and vision. It's an image both beautiful and comforting.
From the Wenzel Hablik Museum, Itzenhoe, Germany.
#Art #WenzelHablik #Expressionism #VisionaryArt #Utopianism #Universe #VastYetCozy #Mysticism
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"Starry Night," Wenzel August Hablik, 1909.
Hablik (1881-1934) was a German painter, graphic artist, architect, and craftsman who, along with others of the period, had a fascination with combining mysticism with science.
While some artists made abstracts of clouds or exploding suns, he created here an orderly vision of a swirling universe, all the stars and planets in a continual dance around a central point....which may be a divine Eye that keeps things going.
Many of Hablik's works shared a utopian vision, and a fascination with crystals and natural forms. Here, for instance, you can see the maybe-mountain in the foreground is covered with jutting crystals.
While so many explored abstract chaos, Hablik shows us here an orderly universe, a world with purpose and vision. It's an image both beautiful and comforting.
From the Wenzel Hablik Museum, Itzenhoe, Germany.
#Art #WenzelHablik #Expressionism #VisionaryArt #Utopianism #Universe #VastYetCozy #Mysticism
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The Places in My Dreams
The world within, the world of my dreams, is similar to the one I walk through every day. But it is different.
The streets bend strangely. The rooms open where they should not. The people and places are often indifferent to me, and sometimes, they are even antagonistic.
They are not merely people and places. They are representations of emotions I have not yet worked through from the previous day. Sixteen waking hours are not enough to fully grasp all that I have experienced, endured, feared, desired, regretted, or misunderstood.
And so, in the night, these things come alive.
They take on faces. They become houses, roads, crowds, locked doors, ruined landscapes, familiar rooms made unfamiliar. They guide me through the shadow lands—not always kindly, but truthfully. They show me what I could not see while awake.
My dreams are not escapes from the day.
They are the day returning in another form, asking to be understood.Some nights I find myself back in places I have never been, and yet they feel older than memory. A school that was never my school. A church with hallways that keep multiplying. A childhood home rearranged by grief. A city I know by instinct, though no map has ever held it.
#ContemplativeWriting #creativeNonfiction #daVinci #dali #dreamCity #dreamJournal #dreams #dreamscape #emotionalGeography #Escher #Fear #gothicReflection #grief #Healing #Imagination #impossibleArchitecture #innerLandscape #innerWorld #KeithLyndaker #labyrinth #longing #MentalHealth #nightVisions #ProsePoem #regret #sacredImagination #selfReflection #shadowLands #shame #SpiritualReflection #subconscious #surrealArt #surrealism #symbolicLandscape #visionaryArt
In these places, I am often trying to get somewhere.
I am late. I am lost. I am looking for someone. I am trying to explain myself to people who will not listen. I am searching for a room, a door, a vehicle, a path, a way home. Sometimes I am carrying something fragile. Sometimes I have forgotten what I was supposed to carry. Sometimes I am responsible for a task I do not understand, surrounded by people who seem to know the rules but refuse to tell me.
This is the cruelty of the dream world: everyone else seems initiated.
They move through the strange landscape as if it is ordinary. They know which hallway leads out, which road is safe, which bus to board, which door not to open. I am the stranger in a world that somehow belongs to me. I am the dreamer, and yet I am not in control.
Perhaps this is why the places feel antagonistic. They do not hate me. They are simply unwilling to flatter me. They will not pretend I am finished with what I have not faced. They will not comfort me with easy explanations. They turn my emotions into architecture and ask me to walk through them.
Fear becomes a narrow bridge.
Regret becomes a house with too many locked rooms.
Anger becomes a storm on the edge of town.
Shame becomes a crowd that sees me before I am ready to be seen.
Grief becomes a road that always returns to the same place.
And longing—longing becomes a light in a window I can never quite reach.
I wake from these dreams with the feeling that I have traveled farther than my body could have gone. I have crossed cities, fields, stairways, basements, sanctuaries, ruins, and train stations. I have spoken with the dead and avoided the living. I have been judged by strangers and ignored by friends. I have wandered through the unfinished weather of my own soul.
Then morning comes, and the ordinary world returns.
The walls are where I left them. The floor is solid. The dog needs to go out. The coffee waits. The phone glows with its small demands. The day begins again, pretending to be separate from the night.
But I know better.
The dream has left its residue. A feeling follows me, sometimes faint, sometimes heavy. A hallway from the dream lingers inside the hallway of the house. A face from the night appears behind the face of someone I know. A mood clings to the morning like fog.
The shadow lands do not vanish when I wake.
They retreat.
They wait beneath the visible world, beneath errands and conversations, beneath sermons and chores, beneath the version of myself that knows how to answer when someone asks, “How are you?”
I say, “I’m fine.”
But somewhere beneath that answer, an entire city is still burning, or flooding, or rebuilding itself in the dark. -
The Places in My Dreams
The world within, the world of my dreams, is similar to the one I walk through every day. But it is different.
The streets bend strangely. The rooms open where they should not. The people and places are often indifferent to me, and sometimes, they are even antagonistic.
They are not merely people and places. They are representations of emotions I have not yet worked through from the previous day. Sixteen waking hours are not enough to fully grasp all that I have experienced, endured, feared, desired, regretted, or misunderstood.
And so, in the night, these things come alive.
They take on faces. They become houses, roads, crowds, locked doors, ruined landscapes, familiar rooms made unfamiliar. They guide me through the shadow lands—not always kindly, but truthfully. They show me what I could not see while awake.
My dreams are not escapes from the day.
They are the day returning in another form, asking to be understood.Some nights I find myself back in places I have never been, and yet they feel older than memory. A school that was never my school. A church with hallways that keep multiplying. A childhood home rearranged by grief. A city I know by instinct, though no map has ever held it.
#ContemplativeWriting #creativeNonfiction #daVinci #dali #dreamCity #dreamJournal #dreams #dreamscape #emotionalGeography #Escher #Fear #gothicReflection #grief #Healing #Imagination #impossibleArchitecture #innerLandscape #innerWorld #KeithLyndaker #labyrinth #longing #MentalHealth #nightVisions #ProsePoem #regret #sacredImagination #selfReflection #shadowLands #shame #SpiritualReflection #subconscious #surrealArt #surrealism #symbolicLandscape #visionaryArt
In these places, I am often trying to get somewhere.
I am late. I am lost. I am looking for someone. I am trying to explain myself to people who will not listen. I am searching for a room, a door, a vehicle, a path, a way home. Sometimes I am carrying something fragile. Sometimes I have forgotten what I was supposed to carry. Sometimes I am responsible for a task I do not understand, surrounded by people who seem to know the rules but refuse to tell me.
This is the cruelty of the dream world: everyone else seems initiated.
They move through the strange landscape as if it is ordinary. They know which hallway leads out, which road is safe, which bus to board, which door not to open. I am the stranger in a world that somehow belongs to me. I am the dreamer, and yet I am not in control.
Perhaps this is why the places feel antagonistic. They do not hate me. They are simply unwilling to flatter me. They will not pretend I am finished with what I have not faced. They will not comfort me with easy explanations. They turn my emotions into architecture and ask me to walk through them.
Fear becomes a narrow bridge.
Regret becomes a house with too many locked rooms.
Anger becomes a storm on the edge of town.
Shame becomes a crowd that sees me before I am ready to be seen.
Grief becomes a road that always returns to the same place.
And longing—longing becomes a light in a window I can never quite reach.
I wake from these dreams with the feeling that I have traveled farther than my body could have gone. I have crossed cities, fields, stairways, basements, sanctuaries, ruins, and train stations. I have spoken with the dead and avoided the living. I have been judged by strangers and ignored by friends. I have wandered through the unfinished weather of my own soul.
Then morning comes, and the ordinary world returns.
The walls are where I left them. The floor is solid. The dog needs to go out. The coffee waits. The phone glows with its small demands. The day begins again, pretending to be separate from the night.
But I know better.
The dream has left its residue. A feeling follows me, sometimes faint, sometimes heavy. A hallway from the dream lingers inside the hallway of the house. A face from the night appears behind the face of someone I know. A mood clings to the morning like fog.
The shadow lands do not vanish when I wake.
They retreat.
They wait beneath the visible world, beneath errands and conversations, beneath sermons and chores, beneath the version of myself that knows how to answer when someone asks, “How are you?”
I say, “I’m fine.”
But somewhere beneath that answer, an entire city is still burning, or flooding, or rebuilding itself in the dark. -
At the center of all things lives a door that shrinks forever inward — and every sphere along the horizon is a world that chose to become whole. This is the architecture of infinity, rendered in silence.
https://silverlenz.carrd.co
Zap ⚡ if it resonates — support the transmissions directly.
#SacredGeometry #ConsciousnessArt #InfiniteRegress #CosmicOrder #VisionaryArt -
Coloured and finished.
#MastoArt #psychedelic #surrealism #sciFi #krita #VisionaryArt #FantasyArt #space #stars
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Coloured and finished.
#MastoArt #psychedelic #surrealism #sciFi #krita #VisionaryArt #FantasyArt #space #stars
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I often see things others don't see although I'm visually impaired and I don't see things others see
I used to either ignore it or find it annoying now I see it as a blessing and a gift
With this painting I embrace that gift
#painting #digitalpainting #visionaryart #abstractpainting -
I often see things others don't see although I'm visually impaired and I don't see things others see
I used to either ignore it or find it annoying now I see it as a blessing and a gift
With this painting I embrace that gift
#painting #digitalpainting #visionaryart #abstractpainting -
Saw this strange being on the cusp of sleep
Painted in #krita -
Saw this strange being on the cusp of sleep
Painted in #krita -
Latest digital painting, developed from abstract sketches. Thanks to my wife for sharing her vision of it, which shaped its creation.
#mastoart #surrealism #krita #fantasy #psychedelic #visionaryart
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Latest digital painting, developed from abstract sketches. Thanks to my wife for sharing her vision of it, which shaped its creation.
#mastoart #surrealism #krita #fantasy #psychedelic #visionaryart
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# sublime
