3 Eyes (2009)
Three eyes is a collaborative group of artists, who combine their own artistic mediums into a modality that has its own synergistic presence.
Nicolo Sertorio uses his photographic eye revealing the emotional beauty of abstracted natural landscapes.
Elaine Toland uses her painter's eye creating an orchestration of abstracted paint to re-interpret the feelings and memories evoked by Nicolo's image.
Seonok Lee uses her poetic eye, creating a poem, using Korean calligraphy, inspired by the combined image.
The collaborative creative process by these three artists results in an image that matures into its own life force.
Pieces are one-off stretched canvas mixed media 60" wide by 30" high.
Dreamscape
Translation of poem:
Dream
Submerged in smoke
Like flames
Spewing fiery blood red and blue blossoms.
It is nothing but my passion,
A shadow of my own dreams.
Illusion
In the agony of suffocating flames
A sudden throb of my heart
It is nothing but my own illusion
With ever deeper passion
I want to live
I want to lead
A fiery life.
Nostalgia
Translation of poem:
In the midst of blue waters
Suddenly, threads of red glimmer
Provoke nostalgia
In one’s heart.
Lost Island
Sold
Translation of poem:
Alas,
Sun is setting
in the western sky,
above the lonely river,
leaning into the hue of pink
Ah,
when the Sun goes down
when the Sun goes down
there comes the night
weeping alone
in the shade of an apricot tree
today, a fine day in April
when cheerful sound of people bustling about
floods the street
why does the unbearable stream of tears
run alone
in the depth of my heart in silence
Sea Breeze
Sold
Serenity
Sold
Stormy Sunset
Sold
Translation of (partial) poem:
My love for you
Ever enduring
The sunset before the storm
White clouds floating in blue
In the midst of a fiery red sky
...
Floating Fire
Translation of poem:
Ah, the day is waning, in the western sky, over the lonely river, the even pinkish glow is fading…ah,
when the sun sets, when the sun sets, night will return without fail.
I weep alone beneath an apricot tree, but today is the eighth of April,
and the sound of a crowd flooding the boulevard betokens festivities to come,
so why am I the only one unable to stifle the tears welling up in my heart?
Ah, it’s dancing, it’s dancing, the blood red flame, it’s dancing.
Peering down from the hushed castle gate,
the odor of water, the odor of sand,
when the torch, biting the night, biting the sky,
as if still hungering, bites and tears at its own flesh,
a solitary youth weighted with a darkened heart hurls his blue dream of yesterday into the river,
yet will the heartless waves suspend its shadow in the flow?
Red Cloud
SOLD
Translation of poem:
If I catch the carpet of cloud
the sheet of blood red cloud
the mountain of pitch-black cloud in the dark
I will fly far away across the vast sky