Such etchings are an elegiac calligraphy, like discovering the petrified wings of a butterfly held suspended, the carapace holding a magic carpet of swirling colors. Such is beauty- the courtship of sensuality and time, bodies writ with opulently adorned skins of oracle, parts cleaving and closing upon temples of breath. It was a few pictures that froze my vision for much longer than a mere moment. They were pictures of the chaos and aftermath in Albania. In particular, it was a picture of a skull lying barren in charred remains, a mass grave said to hold the bodies of women and children.
Art has the power to transcend terror, as well as create it.
Beauty and death exist as fated lovers, and artists have portrayed both the dark and light of this duality. Artists have an immortality that leaves wisps of vision behind-the body may be taken, but art assumes its feathers of afterlife, gliding back into the living. Here's in hopes that beauty may bloom from where the dead lie. Used under License.