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Description
2018, Nikon D40, many candles as light exposure

//music and lyrics:
Nargaroth - Das schwarze Gemälde

about:
The Black Painting
A black work of art, whose nameless artist is governing creative thought-processes buried within us, in our sight. For the decadent, a lifeless parchment of haphazard aesthetic.
For the enlightened, an illuminated plain of desolate, languishing existence in the ecstasy of perfect beauty.
Drawn with the blood of guilt, it reveals to us images of our desires and our fantasy.

text:

A black painting, the picture burnt

The frame charred, once called life.

The significance determined by the mind,

for the time of your life, escaping you.

A black painting, a mirror image picture book.

It reads your thoughts and transforms them to images, which had been yours alone.

The colors of the mask are fading, and a white face
lights up the black velvet.

The tears leave salty rims,

for a long time visible the origin,

to construe their course,

to taste their meaning.

The sun might dry them

but not hide them!

And only in darkness,

colors lose their meaning.

Only then, we reveal our faces,

let masks burst, coils drop.

Then, the white rim of the tears is invisible...

We lick our wounds, but the salt

of the tears run dry burns our flesh

and lets the remedy hurt us...

Screams are searching the veil of darkness,

Reaching every nearby ear to let the receiver hasten to help.

For screams are the only language known to all.

But darkness prevents looks from finding their source.

Frenzy is the inevitable course,

for overwhelming seems the pain.

No word can be formed now which could guide the seeker.

Instead, the sounds from my throat make the seeker flee in terror.

So we remain bleeding dry.

The theatre of life long since burnt down.

Yet, the embers are warming me, burning my hand.

Turned to ashes is the gown I once bore.

Tortured in pain, who once beat me.

The burst lips of those who never touched me to bedew.

The split tongues of those
who consciously lied at me.

It is pain,

bearing unruly lust inside of me.

Rejoice, you blissful children of the light.

But your painting will forever only be black.

Description
2018, Nikon D40, many candles as light exposure

//music and lyrics:
Nargaroth - Das schwarze Gemälde

about:
The Black Painting
A black work of art, whose nameless artist is governing creative thought-processes buried within us, in our sight. For the decadent, a lifeless parchment of haphazard aesthetic.
For the enlightened, an illuminated plain of desolate, languishing existence in the ecstasy of perfect beauty.
Drawn with the blood of guilt, it reveals to us images of our desires and our fantasy.

text:

A black painting, the picture burnt

The frame charred, once called life.

The significance determined by the mind,

for the time of your life, escaping you.

A black painting, a mirror image picture book.

It reads your thoughts and transforms them to images, which had been yours alone.

The colors of the mask are fading, and a white face
lights up the black velvet.

The tears leave salty rims,

for a long time visible the origin,

to construe their course,

to taste their meaning.

The sun might dry them

but not hide them!

And only in darkness,

colors lose their meaning.

Only then, we reveal our faces,

let masks burst, coils drop.

Then, the white rim of the tears is invisible...

We lick our wounds, but the salt

of the tears run dry burns our flesh

and lets the remedy hurt us...

Screams are searching the veil of darkness,

Reaching every nearby ear to let the receiver hasten to help.

For screams are the only language known to all.

But darkness prevents looks from finding their source.

Frenzy is the inevitable course,

for overwhelming seems the pain.

No word can be formed now which could guide the seeker.

Instead, the sounds from my throat make the seeker flee in terror.

So we remain bleeding dry.

The theatre of life long since burnt down.

Yet, the embers are warming me, burning my hand.

Turned to ashes is the gown I once bore.

Tortured in pain, who once beat me.

The burst lips of those who never touched me to bedew.

The split tongues of those
who consciously lied at me.

It is pain,

bearing unruly lust inside of me.

Rejoice, you blissful children of the light.

But your painting will forever only be black.