Photography for a spell now. Few more Waite's, this ones called "Lost In Study."
The Chess Art Thread
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nhoinla wrote:
I painted this several months ago in photoshop. No reference, just off the top of my head. "
Thanks so much nhoinla #:) Lucky guy huh? plus he's wearing my favorite color.
K. Waite "Quite Reflections"
K. Waite "The Box"
K. Waite "In the Tomb of Tomes"
i like all these pictures, i would put one, but SOMEONE AREADY TOOK MINE!
This one's for you nhoinla. "Max Ernst & Dorothea Tanning"
Really dig black & white photography, but I'm not much familiar with good b&W chess photography so if you know of some please throw down.
Quix wrote:
Is this it?
Very cool. Unfortunately that was not what I was thinking of, but thanks for trying.
i just go to the image in my computer, make copy, then in the option "insert image" here, i do paste image and... nothing :-(
Little Kosteniuk
M. Socko vs E. Pahtz 2006 Women Chess Cup Dresden, Germany
Tiviakov
Washington Square Park tables April 02, 2007
Same as above.
Mark Kostabi "Grandmasters"
The Man-Moth
Here, above,
cracks in the buildings are filled with battered moonlight.
The hole shadow of Man is only as big as his hat.
It lies at his feet like a circle for a doll to stand on,
and he makes an inverted pin, the point magnetized to the
moon.
He does not see the moon; he observes only her vast
properties,
feeling the queer light on his hands, neither warm nor cold,
of a temperature impossible to record in thermometers.
But when the Man-Moth
pays his rare, although occasional, visits to the surface,
the moon looks rather different to him. He emerges
from an opening under the edge of one of the sidewalks
and nervously begins to scale the faces of the buildings.
He thinks the moon is a small hole at the top of the sky,
proving the sky quite useless for protection.
He trembles, but must investigate as high as he can climb.
Up the facades,
his shadow dragging like a photographer's cloth behind him,
he climbs fearfully, thinking that this time he will manage
to push his small head through that round clean opening
and be forced through, as from a tube, in black scrolls on the
light.
(Man, standing below him, has no such illusions.)
But what the Man-Moth fears most he must do, although
he fails, of course, and falls back scared but quite unhurt.
Then he returns
to the pale subways of cement he calls his home. He flits,
he flutters, and cannot get aboard the silent trains
fast enough to suit him. The doors close swiftly.
The Man-Moth always seats himself facing the wrong way
and the train starts at once at its full, terrible speed,
without a shift in gears or a gradation of any sort.
He cannot tell the rate at which he travels backwards.
Each night he must
be carried through artificial tunnels and dream recurrent
dreams.
Just as the ties recur beneath his train, these underlie
his rushing brain. He does not dare look out the window,
for the third rail, the unbroken draught of poison,
runs there beside him. He regards it as a disease
he has inherited the susceptibility to. He has to keep
his hands in his pockets, as others must wear mufflers.
If you catch him,
hold up a flashlight to his eye. It's all dark pupil,
an entire night itself, whose haired horizon tightens
as he stares back, and closes up the eye. Then from the lids
one tear, his only possession, like the bee's sting, slips.
Slyly he palms it, and if you're not paying attention
he'll swallow it. However, if you watch, he'll hand it over,
cool as from underground springs and pure enough to drink.
Elizabeth Bishop
Interesting story of how Elizabeth came to the idea of this poem, it was from an article on mammoths that had the typo Manmoths. Guess you never now where inspiration will strike.
cool, glad i found this thread in art ive chosen to do a collection of chess based works thanks for the inspiration :)
Hans August Lassen "Die Schachspieler"
Here's a chess poem that I really like by our very own Rael.
CHESS
Meet me then, within this grid,
this little wooden battlefield as equals,
as we forget our bodies to inhabit these pieces,
control these spaces, trade threats and responses,
send our thoughts out into possible positions, our eyes
imagining nothing but sweet forks and lancing fianchettoes.
We chessplayers, pretend enemies, bound to our miniature war
inexplicably & inescapably: when did we find ourselves so obsessed,
insidiously seduced to advances and exchanges, lost inside
this abyss of infinite moves, willing servants of it's rules?
Very nice. You are talented. I couldn't do that in a million years.....even if I knew how