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Clive Smith, “Separate Together”, Oil on Canvas, 2000, 82 x 110 Inches
Clive Smith was born in St. Albans, England in 1967. He received his Bachelor of Arts from Kingston Polytechnic, at Kingston upon Thames, England in 1988. He moved to New York City where he studied painting and drawing at the Art Students League. He currently works and lives in New York.
The painting shown above is from Clive Smith’s “A Stage” Series.
“Aamir, recalling back to the idyllic days of his college youth, pictured himself once again sitting quietly on a familiar neighbourhood rooftop. He often enjoyed relaxing there, alone or with friends, while watching the colourful fluttering prayer flags on rooftop poles, especially in the warmth of an early evening breeze, as wispy clouds drifted against the jagged Himalayan backdrop. He has oft times wondered, ever since his childhood, if the prayers to the spirits of the dead, flying out from those slowly tattering rags, will ever really be answered. Perhaps it will be in another place, in another time, when we’re living another life that we shall finally know. Aamir had calmly thought at the time. He was that sort of philosophical guy.”
“It’s spring fever. That is what the name of it is. And when you’ve got it, you want—oh, you don’t quite know what it is you do want, but it just fairly makes your heart ache, you want it so!”
― Mark Twain
“Life lived in the absence of the psychedelic experience that primordial shamanism is based on is life trivialized, life denied, life enslaved to the ego.”
―Terrence McKenna
Photos with white background were taken by Rio-based Daryan Dornelles who is well known for his magazine and compact disc covers and his photographs of musicians and celebrities.
“He foresaw his pale body reclined in it at full, naked, in a womb of warmth, oiled by scented melting soap, softly lavered. He saw his trunk and limbs riprippled over and sustained, buoyed lightly upward, lemonyellow: his navel, bud of flesh: and saw the dark tangled curls of his bush floating, floating hair of the stream around the limp father of thousands, a languid floating flower.” – James Joyce, Ulysses
“That was a memorable day to me, for it made great changes in me. But it is the same with any life. Imagine one selected day struck out of it, and think how different its course would have been. Pause you who read this, and think for a moment of the long chain of iron or gold, of thorns or flowers, that would never have bound you, but for the formation of the first link on one memorable day.”
