FIELDS OF MORNING /  by Laurence Fuller

In collaboration with Kesja Tabaczuk, adapted from the exhibition (at Arcadia Contemporary from July 11 - 31) ~ the digital collection will launch on Sedition on July 24th.

Each digital artwork was adapted from the paintings of Kesja Tabaczuk and the poetry of Laurence Fuller.

Fields Of Morning is about our connection to all the world around us, as creators and poets of each moment. About presence and the beauty of being alive.

The first steps that we take out into the fields each morning with the rising sun, on our road back home again to self discovery. The Lyca character is loosely based on a series of poems by William Blake.

I first came across Kesja Tabaczuk’s work on social media, the precision and careful deliberation of her works were counterbalanced by elements of the absurd. These wondering wild animals and half finished birds, questioned the mundane.

These masterful portraits, left an open space that was an opportunity for poetic storytelling.

Figurative painting in our time has become more rare and special with the reduction of all art to the instant. Yet we know there are some instants in our lives which rest in our memories with more potency and contemplation than others.

When all you have is sentiment, the imagination has even greater weight than life itself. The world around becomes an extension of our inner lives. And beauty echoes back to us ~ a paradise in this life.

When we were young the fields of the morning find in early memories of Mother Nature, our true potential.

My Sister was lost when we were young,

She was lost in the forests and by the lake,

There was a buzzing sound as she walked over those bridges and thought those thoughts,

But through the parks and brushes they swayed,

I was sad, I missed the things she would say,

I missed the games she would play,

Although sometimes in my heart she would sting,

Like a beautiful wasp,

And in pain I would sing,

For how happy I was that she gave me that kiss,

Though it was tipped in poison, I lay down in bliss.

Collaboration with Laurence Fuller and Kesja Tabaczuk

Those fires raging in our blood,

They burn through the years,

And embers may heat the furnace of their tongues, 

But some flames never dull their lashings,

Not even with cool niceties of song birds,

Lyca knows this,

She knows her matches they lit,

She went out to the red wood forest,

And it was then fell their many fears,

To a pool of elemental heat,

In her pursuit of all the corners of California,

Lyca’s father was an angry man,

She wanted to teach him what love meant,

With something he could understand,

A fire to match the flames he had sent,

Though his bonfires roared at the first gust of wind,

There was something more that he could not contend,

The benefit of time.

For though his scolding did sear with marks that scarred,

Not every mark did mend,

Her abandonment would last as long as it would take, 

Her affections were hers to give and this he must learn for good,

Even if it meant an everlasting burn,

Smoke filled up every corner of the wood,

For her fires would last much longer.

Collaboration with Laurence Fuller and Kesja Tabaczuk

The years have passed now, Lyca’s a little older,

The city’s bigger than that little village that controlled her,

Faster she ran, on streets cold and stark, No village lanes, etched in memory's dark. 

Coursing through the cafes, shops and madness of the night,

Her independence worth more,

For that she would fight,

Press her feet to the ground by the bridge that sped by all its passengers mid call,

As she looked over the edge, she could stand, or she could fall,

How much further was it to the ground?

Would it feel like floating,

Gazing below, a choice stark and bare, 

To stand in the storm, or fall to the air.

Or would that landing make a sound?

That wind it blows her hair through the streets of New York City,

Lyca’s father was an angry man and forced her to carry his bags,

He said he loved her like the blowing sands across the desert,

Before she opened that door he asked; 

“Are you sure you want to die by that sword?”

She replied;

“I am the sword”

Lyca could bear his crooked ways no further,

She ran to where he could not hurt her,

His legacy, built on the backs of the weak, 

A love for the nation, and its soil,

Ghosts penned his story, in blood-stained disguise, No prologue of pain, in truth's honest eyes.

But that prologue is written in blood.

Collaboration with Laurence Fuller and Kesja Tabaczuk

Sweet to me, 

Though drowsy wanderers pass by in mystery,

The night floods in from their absence and suddenly; 

Many more join in raucous roars,

To interrupt our whispers in the corner.

Stories of the ocean floor,

And when the night has fallen,

You grace to me an open door, to paradise,

When all the world banal,

Wether good or bad, naughty or nice,

Freedom is our canal. 

Collaboration with Laurence Fuller and Kesja Tabaczuk

Strikes in the sun,

War for frivolity, 

Contemplate this stubborn mystery,

Each person their own labyrinth by the sea,

People revel by the beach,

While palaces rest easy and speak, 

Carnival of the soul,

We are beyond this world,

We are of the soil, sand, strength, beauty and resilience,

Simply Summer son and daughter as he sings to us,

Wisdom rows the lakes.

Collaboration with Laurence Fuller and Kesja Tabaczuk

There’s a cupboard in our past,

It’s full of all the art that didn’t last,

Nor fell by leave of grass,

And printed on the flag upon the mast,

All the things we whispered over suppers,

And decades sketched journals, books and buried treasures,

Wrought with meaning in their placement,

Boxes packed and unpacked in the basement.

Collaboration with Laurence Fuller and Kesja Tabaczuk

A parrot sits on her shoulder, 

It recounts the volume of chapters she wrote, each day the things she could never say herself,

The mercenaries who knocked on her door and the darkest caverns of wealth,

She knew where it all was buried and where all their stories were written.

She dared not speak a word but the parrot saw all those visions,

Where the farmer sowed seeds and the wretched made those decisions,

The parrot then did speculate, the parrot then did listen,

Not green at all were its feathers darkened by the years.

She knew all their reckonings, she knew all their fears,

The parrot knew their wants.

Collaboration with Laurence Fuller and Kesja Tabaczuk

Thoughts of them in Lyca’s elation.

In every new sensation. 

God of the sun,

Sun of the earth,

The mountains in the Summer ~ shelter more than you may know. 

By the shade that is the greatest heights,

Even in the snow,

For when snows glowing from the light. 

The radiance to and fro. 

By the lion with its main of gold,

And guards its gardens until night.

She drops those daises by his feet and wishes for them right,

The only place that they can grow,

For the deserts arid by the desert wind as it blows,

There is a beacon in the sky.

That this world could not deny,

Something rallies us to its glow and its glow is bright, 

Something we can never know,

Lyca what the pride has in store for us tonight.

Collaboration with Laurence Fuller and Kesja Tabaczuk

Try to remember the clouds,

They carry the sky above their shoulders,

When they fall they form of water, because water seeks the lowest ground,

Rumbling skies pass the crescent moon,

She passes the shore like the sea’s daughter,

And her shadows gone too soon,

Holding on to the last breathe,

Hold back all her thoughts with every step,

Permission she asks for every word to speak,

The clouds this morning were nowhere to be seen.

Collaboration with Laurence Fuller and Kesja Tabaczuk

Imagine a people who speak a language without words,

Who create a location in the human soul with their intention,

And that place they make is called beauty,

Beauty isn’t your kitsch Christmas cards and candy wrappers

It’s the last breathe your great grandfather took as he watched his last sunset.

You’ll breathe that sunset too, we all will.

Beauty is unforgiving,

It’s with you on the most unexpected evening,

And gone again as soon as you see it.

Collaboration with Laurence Fuller and Kesja Tabaczuk

 By the desert trees and through the 

End of the dwelling caves that close

Lyca sees through that far horizon

That they proclaim she doesn’t know

And every grain whips up what she came for,

Patches of sand that were ruined by the constructs of man

The time that passed by,

Step forward and their right answer is written in the land

Climb the heights, wear the golden band

They’re not so far away, 

They twinkle in the eyes of the great landscape before her,

In the distance Lyca heard the lion’s roar 

As the big cat folded over its paw

Much louder than before

The call Lyca was hoping for

The desert wind blows, even louder than before

Let it take you, as it carries the lion’s roar

You are destined for much more,

Collaboration with Laurence Fuller and Kesja Tabaczuk

On the run from her parents' home.

She could not find the beginning from where she started,

though the lines kept her safe throughout the night.

From where the tigers run the word,

It passes from one today, to another the next. 

The word of Lyca’s walking at day's rest.

Her parents, the friend of the gentry,

Who spread word throughout the land.

Where had their daughter wandered,

Or was she carried by the sand, 

A wild spirit not made for courtly life, 

Though one day she will settle they said, 

And this her fate was writ.

They spoke of distant mysteries from shores they'd never visit, 

Of rules they made, in worlds that only they permissed.

A tapestry of conventions,

To hide their true intentions.

Time to break those casts for her own invention.

Collaboration with Laurence Fuller and Kesja Tabaczuk

Night & Day /  by Laurence Fuller

These past couple weeks have seen my spiritual ruptures that brought me to my knees.

I was absent from my life and from even exhibitions that were calling for my presence. I had wondered, but not through forests, through the jungle of man that was Los Angeles.

My home became the cocoon of a new blooming idea that came from the death of a self that sat on my chest. An ego death, that was not my first. The casting out of the bad habits that kept me addicted to the unobtainable and inhabitable side to my spirit that no longer belonged in my home.

Night was created for FakeWhale’s “Art Market” exhibition

Do you know my name?
Do you know me?
For I am your mischief,
And there are none who call me master,
Only those I wish to make believe,
As you read in my diary.
Prophecy is writ on signs that are parades in your honor that my name will be there in less than score, but ten years.
And when they stitch my name above that frame where his once was,
It will my crown be framed.
I may break the glass of this mirror I stare into,
Like a screen in front of my visage that shows me untamed.
Breaking my reflection.

Simple has no place in the plotting journals of my rise to unimaginable fame and glory,
Unlike any that came before me,
Surprise the veil of my protection,
Deny their affections.

For I will paint their portraits no more,
But paint my own and say it is in their honor,
Let them think they hold the reins and catch their good favors as it rains.

Redact their language they one day learned for their own March,
To their own throne,
I will block their path with rocks and stacked toys and puppets that may dance,
Impossible to grab.

And pay credit to the master,
Though his likeness be not worth a penny.
Tend to those who have the countenance to be nice,
I wish I was one.
People think I am nice,
But I know not why,
Maybe it is because I have blue eyes.
But stare long enough into them,
And they stare back into you. 

I am compelled to prove ~ to all and make the world my oyster that I might sup it clean.
For when I am immersed and supper was the world,
Then I dined as a fiend.
My celebrity will mask all, especially my subtle treachery.
Nice be my countenance and all the while success is written in prophecy.
False only to that smile that I bely,
May it seem an angel’s twinkle in my eye.

They may smoke the weeds,
I encourage them,
The places of sin be my dwelling places and I will gode them in.

They used riches as carrots strapped in front of mine possession and the dropping pennies I leave behind.
My tongue it speaks the language of different lands as I fit in one of the people,
Alike my fellow man.

And all those languages twist over one another but they tell the same story ~ a villain is who I am.
The snakes that I embody, allow them to turn about my hands.
Conspire this system to my favor,
A villain's tapestry,
My life unfolds,
A web of twisted threads where darkness binds.

Devils lurk at every turn,
Ready to punish for deeds both foul and dire.
Is this the price of power?
An endless, burning pyre?

I shall not shine too bright in the sunlight and my glimmer will flash rage in their squinting eyes,
And alike them too,
Should I see a shine glimmering in the water
Step on it before it gets too bright,
Make sure it drowns.

For they will reign me in,
And strap those carrots to my chin.
I will be grateful for the whip upon my skinny hide,
It’s my memory I was more vicious than you, my poison more potent and my strength more sturdy.
My oak trunk didn’t move an inch each time you pushed and pushed and tried so hard to push.
I bade my time, did you know what cauldrons I had in the fire?
Or did you just assume?

For who did you think it would not end well?
As your crown rocks back and forth at my feet,
All I need do now ~ is reach down,
Time is my friend,
Not yours,
And time will unfold,
Whether you like it or not.
When did he claim to be gracious or nice,
Do you remember?

Come closer,
Get to know me,
Because one day I will learn,
How to feel remorse,
Because I am not finished yet.

Cinematic poetry by Laurence Fuller
Original poetry and performance by Laurence Fuller
Visuals & Music aided by AI by Laurence Fuller
Minted for FakeWhale’s “Art Market” exhibition
@laurencefuller


When that purge of the compulsive relationship is bound to an imaginary self, and the two feed off eachother. And it’s when that purge begins that the devil makes his last bid for your soul.

Day was created for FakeWhale’s “Art Market” exhibition

Yesterday I found myself on my knees in front of where a cross once hung in my home.  

It is an old converted church that now has its seats as empty thrones,  

That my only hope is surrender.

That I can find a paradise in this life,  

To be good while hazard folks that walk and tred with me across my wounds that bleed,  

If I could only run to beauty and to know that road which is clear in its guidance.

My heart tells me it is by the air on the wind,  

I cannot find the right answer in any of the gargoyles in my way it’s only,  

Beauty will come hurtling towards me.  

Beauty’s in the garden of the Kingdoms that were before their time.  

It was too her voice that sent whispers to my heart that was an uncontrollable tremor in the bliss of unending splendor.

The years were caught,  

In a hanging loop on the unknown that wrapped around my foot and pulled me up to the ceiling. 

I tried and tied the knots around my legs and wished it was a plot of libels instead.  

But those ringing bells around my head they clanged a different sound I knew that was a rupture,  

That all my sound, and all my ears received through my body and my toils of worry.  

But they were the echoes of that reflection I could only crack with my sword in swooping silver.

I walked home barefoot on a road of light.  

It cast out every demon from my path at night and I was down the road of sound and hope.  

At distant shores she was not one but many until beauty met me on that road.  

Barefoot I walked,  

Mild were my clothes,  

Opportunities came not from the celebrities  

But from the mild mannered that I met,  

Who marked the wood I carried with something good,  

Something from the fruit they plucked with their own hands.  

Those who once and still deny my will,  

Now carry my steps home to Victory.

Cinematic poetry by Laurence Fuller  

Original poetry and performance by Laurence Fuller  

Visuals & Music aided by AI by Laurence Fuller  

With some painting references by Stephanie Fuller  

Minted for FakeWhale’s “Art Market” exhibition  

www.laurencefuller.art  

@laurencefuller

The illusion of the Master, is that they are one. This assumption of power is a precarious position to take. Because while the lion prowls proudly in their fields, they inevitably come upon a snake, who by all appearances is much smaller and more meek than the lion. According to Aesop should the lion choose to bat the snake with its paw, the repercussions echo much louder than a lion’s roar.

Lion & Snake was exhibited at Art Basel, 2024.

There was a lion that never learned how to use its teeth or its claws, At the first shadow of a snake it jumped and mewed and pawed, Shaking inside, just a frightened little mouse, But that shadow was just a stick, how silly he looks, how ridiculous, The lion sighs, “I never needed to learn how to fight, Upon my flesh a simple stick will not bite,” The lion laughed and rested for the night, Dreaming away and drifting through memories, In front of him a whole circus he sees. He saw himself a great ringmaster, all around they dance and sing, He held a hat and a cane, And truly believed it was for him they sang. “When I wake up, I will be the one holding the stick” He believed. But when morning broke those singers turned to birds in the trees. And it turned out it was not for him at all that music was playing. In anger he roared, “Where’s my stick?!” He sauntered over and picked it up, hoping to reclaim his cane. But wait, it was more scales than he had imagined, not hard at all. It was the snake after all, and it bit deeper with a poison that felt like fire coursing through his veins, more pain than he had ever imagined, his blood turned to flames. The lion roared… and then… collapsed. The bird’s songs went on, and day past into night and time passed. The snake had waited for its chance, throughout the night, It did wait and wait for the lion to grab the bait. Adapted from the fable by Aesop ~ by Laurence Fuller @laurencefuller

In Shakespeare’s “The Tempest”, the wizard Prospero subjugates the native creature Caliban to a life in a shadows. Though he teaches him language, what Caliban does with that language, for better or worse is his choice.

Created in collaboration with Von Doyle.

Paradise Reigns /  by Laurence Fuller

I want to tell a story. It is about the big parade ~ NFC Lisbon.

My biggest thanks for all that transpired in Lisbon must go to these pioneers in live digital art John Karp and Grida.

My first discussions with John Karp regarding NFC Summit were all about where this medium becomes most compelling, when it pulls out the dreams of our subconscious into being and surrounds the audience, we’re all seeing the lights shining of this new medium.

Cinema, poetry, fine art, and live performance. The first opera was coined by pulling together these disparate art forms into a synthesis that lived aesthetic experience beyond a solitary screen, perhaps beyond the still painting which sits idle though beautifully instigating the imagination of the viewer as it may do.

John and I discussed for weeks the power of the live experience, in the arena of digital art  that has become NFC Lisbon ~ where artists go to battle in that Amphitheatre of art that surrounds us all. And for that moment on the stage, five screens surround, one voice is all that matters ~ one voice is all there is.

The commanding presence of live cinematic poetry performance, lives at that stage in Lisbon just once a year for three days.

The stage is a home I spend too long apart from. She is the bow of my soul, my heart & I stand with her traversing the most fervent oceans.

On the day of “Paradise Reigns” those were fervent seas indeed ~ stepping on the stage, the poetry memorized and layered images embedded in my subconscious the dream of paradise swirled around my mind and feeling, the poetry was ready to express itself outwardly through my vessel and instrument.

It was the ancients too who taught me to memorise ~ those orators that stood on street corners in Ancient Greece reciting whole sagas and epic myths through various memorisation methods. As there are many problems with the prevailing methods of acting and those of the past which dealt with the subject of memory in misguided ways, working against the natural course of human subconscious thoughts and associations. Many practitioners and self-proclaimed Kings of the craft have overlooked this ancient wisdom. That to learn from one’s own imagination and not by motor memory denying the feelings that rise up from the core of our being. That even those that Romantics could see and the likes of Lee Strasberg touched on himself in poetry;

“I have said that poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origins from emotion recollected in tranquillity: the emotion is contemplated till, by a species of reaction the tranquillity gradually disappears, and an emotion kindred to that which was before the object of contemplation is gradually produced and does itself actually exist in the mind. In this mood successful composition generally begins, and in a mood similar to this it is carried on.”

Though that is sadly largely where both Lee Strasberg and Stanislavki’s pursuit of poetry finished, favoring more trendy techniques in psychoanalysis which suppress the human will, that have since been outdated. For there are many parts of the spirit in human beings that cannot be coded, nor predicted, but are pursued by greater depths than theories and exercises which barely scratch the surface, let alone unravel threads to make a parchment, and not nearly enough still to write a well crafted poem.

Both men acknowledged the beauty in art and in poetry and touch on the truths and depths of Romanticism but for reasons unbeknownst to me left it alone at surface level ~ when it came to pursuit of study or an integral part of the craft and practice. And no amount of time spent in the latter’s study could remedy this missing link in the method, but to pursue art wholly and fully, not just to study it, but to feel it, more-so to know it. The pursuit of art and poetry should never be finished.

Standing in front of the room filled with digital art lovers, the talk and preparation was done, the time to realize this vision was now.

Though after a stellar introduction by Dyl Blaquiere of MuseFrames as I stepped on stage though the right, left and centre screens unraveled ~ the screens in front and back were off.

I looked over at Grida, her raised to her ear as she spoke directions urgently into her microphone. I know if there was a possibility for the screens to come on at the time that Grida would make it happen.

And yet I was compelled by that wind in your eyes and ears, staring up at the brightest stars at night, propelling me to bring to life this poem. All of us experiencing the dream in a collective being.

I saw Basileus in audience, one of the beloved patrons of digital art ~ the passion in his eyes and the vision he has for our community, the strength and search for beauty.

The show must go on ~ I read the poem with half the screen blaring Paradise to a room full of fauns. My memories arise and I could feel those poetics blooming. As those giants of the soul bounded through the room on hind legs that raised them in the air.

When I came off stage John & Grida walked up to me and said “we must go again”. “Let’s play it again” they bellows to the technicians and audience alike. A microphone was plugged into my ear again and an announcement for a second screening to be played.

The screens lit up all around and we were all pulled in now. A second time, it reigned in Paradise, and we ran through those battles once more, the battles for beauty. Though the old King lay defeated on that stage that day, the long march to paradise has only just begun.

A story of satyr and soldiers of beauty, those great Romantics who came roaring through the forests to conquer Elysium.

A King whose old ways had concurred and calcified into a dry pile on the floor. Time had passed him by and what once worked for a moment in time, turned out to be the snake oil of yesterday.

And that King fell to his knees by my feet. As I held his head in my hand and removed it with my blade, like Oedipus before me, I saw in slow motion he sank to the floor and it was the end of his reign. I would like to say that’s where the story finished, but it is not finished, rather the beginning of a new era.

Even the eternal truths of the human spirit, those things that are resistant to the changing winds. That last the test of time, and time is on their side.

Those who cannot accept the oncoming reigns of paradise as their vines take root in the souls of its people and their minds and voices spoke with truth.

Until next year my memories still will cherish NFC Lisbon, from that first night I drank and dined with the Cult Of Crypto Art ~ Jaen, Olgar, George and Arthr. Jenni Pasanen, Rachel T Wood, Pronoia we all basked in that tranquil evening by the lake where swans and sculptures gave shade to the last cool shadows by the palace.

To hug and to see the shining face of my dear friend Tania Rivilis, to see her canvas depicting Val Kilmer. To stay with my dear friends Cemha and AL Crego as they worked late into the night on their immersive rooms and feel that presence of Xcollabz and Animus.

To see fellow performance artists Befe, Oona, Souline, Cyber Yuyu and Irin Angles.

Fidel’s brunch brought me closer to old friends and new, and to Leo Crane, Clare Maguire, Jean-Michel Pailhon, Blakeney Sanfrod, Ender Diril, Arthr, Nygilia, Yucai, Hannes Hummel, Trevor and Violet Jones, Ricardo Alves, Maria Fynsk Norup, Richard Masa, Medved, No Creative, Gabe Weiss, Rutger Van Der Tas, Wim, Lady Kristina, Rachel Suzanne Tien Wood, Ogar, OMGiDRAWEDit, toomuchlag, Gul Yildiz, Kika Nicolela, Roya, Jaen, Zhannet, Patrick Amadon, George Boya, Ender Diril, Arthr, Irina Koksharova, DVK, Hannes Hummel, Merve, Sanqueira.

PARADISE REIGNS

I descended the stairs of Paradise with all my brothers grasping roses by their side,
Stepping through the halls and drowned at last in light,
It was none-other than the transcendent glow of paradise,
Some fauns were lifted by the rapture,
We were all surrounded by this encounter,
I know I was one step closer to his chamber.

For those soldiers of beauty who danced down steps of gold like they were skating on heavens tiles,
Ivory chalk, they clap and clasp the reigns or tearing war elephants beneath the thunderous skies of Elysium’s stormy clouds,
The mud makes way their hoof and foot
As satyr’s claimed the sky,
and all the land was light,
Ancient and divine,
Freedom, pleasure, euphoria,
The constraint of goodness cast their chains, locks and cracked iron did not remain,
Left those burdens, like morality’s restraints. 

Sat all above the elements command,
Elysium Rex sat troubled by an addled countenance and sat upon a throne of roses.

A Babylon before him of endless gardens,
Vines wrapped around ornaments of worship,
Though the old King knew what once filled merchant’s coffers with plenty to harvest.

The vines began to dry,
And clay did crack with time,
Eroded the castle walls with rust that breached Paradise falls.

The mind can rot like broken pots,
And the scepter melts into a trough,
Filled with shells.
The body dried like sticks,
And the dance of life hardened broken promises and a picture frame of a lost queen beneath.

The King’s private songbird nipped at his grey beard and hair.

As he purveyed his crumbling kingdom like the tablets he once held so tight,
Beneath that hardened grip of might,
Fragments hanging from the gardens over the balconies.

He stares out of the window
At all the beauty now fallen to shadows
Falling irises collected by the pond he once plundered,
And lavender swayed in the breeze of war,
For they will not be seen,
Beauty captured, cataloged and owned,
Laid before the throne
Only the finest…
Only the best.

Making my way to the castle
I climb the walls and talk

“Do you feel it?
Brothers that is Paradise breathing in your bones,
The petals blooming like our hearts in arrest,

Can you feel it,
Burrowing in your soul,
It’s like all of life is dancing in the air,
The smallest sound feels like a melody in our ears,
The bugs and birds fly in synchronicity,
Higher and higher, the wind may never stop,
Rise so high they graze the clouds,
The green parade in the sky,
It was the first sign, the year had changed, forever,
And this was marked by a single falling feather,
It’s bronze reflection landed on a statue,
Dancing on marble;
Inscribed,
“Dance with me,
With your baddest electric energy,
Your arms those falling feathers,
The night moves upon your feet,
This life passes once before us,
And never again we shall meet.”

Beyond the gardens and all it sees,
Seeds from figs and fruit sprout new beginnings from every part of paradise’s soil,
My brothers bounding through its ruins, like giants of the soul.
Draped across the steps were Elysium’s daughters one and all.

I walked up to his chamber,
Each step it struck a chord,
Like climbing a harp to heaven.

He heard my footsteps on the floor
“So it was you after all”
I clutched his hair and with my blade removed his head from his shoulders,
His body fell to the floor, by my feet,
From the corner of my eye, there stood the seat,
Adorned in gold and bone,
Perishing petals in the heat fell by my feet,
As I ascend my rightful throne,
And there for the first time,
I set my hands upon the crown.

Just then the Queen appeared,
Shining like the Sun,
A new era had begun.

Graphite Method Live in NYC ~ Immersive Art & Poetry /  by Laurence Fuller

Location: Lume Studios ~ 393 Broadway, New York, NY 11211, USA

Time & Date: Tuesday, April 2 · 6 - 8pm EST

Vincent D’Onofrio and Laurence Fuller use the latest in technology combined with a good old fashion notepad and pen to create Poetic Cinematic Fine Art. An evolution in method acting and cinematic poetry in contemporary art. Currently exhibiting internationally.

Graphite Method was born out of a time where the film and entertainment industries are in flux. And technology is rapidly evolving both the arts and every aspect of our lives. 

With 60 years combined experience in the arts, Vincent and Laurence are at the forefront of nurturing the ghost in the machine. 

Traditional aesthetics and ancient forms of storytelling find new life in a very Contemporary context ~ in the heart of Manhattan, and Soho arts district. 

King's Faun /  by Laurence Fuller

Today “King’s Faun” 1/1 was acquired on Superrare by Comfy Devil

https://superrare.com/0x2f1d0f36900321b45dd28eb941841f5641143fb3/king's-faun-2

The second chapter of the Elysium Collection which tells the story of the King Of Paradise and the arcane myths that surround his kingdom. 

The first chapter Elysium Awaits In Bliss (acquired by @basileus_eth ~ https://superrare.com/0x2f1d0f36900321b45dd28eb941841f5641143fb3/elysium-awaits-in-bliss-1) tells the story of a mysterious moving painting that arrives at an antique dealers workshop. His nephew stares into the painting and it takes him to Elysium where a pleasure seeking King sleeps through the fall of his Kingdom. 

In ancient times, Myths were told by orators and in the theatre. The blind poet Homer wrote epic creation stories of the Gods and Titans that formed their societies understanding of the world that lasted for centuries and published to this day. These myths were painted in still images by the old masters. Stark sweeping realism capturing adventures of the Gods and man’s follies. 

Time remained a constant as audiences took in each detail in silence. 


The cinema captured the world as it is reflected like a mirror and filmmakers arranged the given circumstances to reflect their stories at 24 frames a second. 

Now myth, classical aesthetics in image making, performance and cinematic sequences can tell new myths ~ born and reimagined from old ones. 

The King’s Faun takes place in a forest on the outskirts of Elysium ~ where a shy yet mischievous faun gets misguided by nymphs to a glade, where he becomes enraptured by a force of nature. Strange visions appear reflecting his desires in an overwhelming symphony.

The conductor behind this fervent Bacchanalia is the King Of Paradise himself, who appears as an apparition ~ having undergone a chilling transformation and speaking in retrospect, the King wishes to tell the faun of the “labyrinth of dreams” which led him there.

Fauns have always been fascinating Gods to me. Their pursuit of pleasure for pleasure’s sake, something we’re taught is somehow wrong or taboo in our society. That each right action must have a purpose beyond pleasure. And yet the Romantics understood the value of following one's instincts to pursue those things which make us feel euphoria and that lead us somewhere beyond despair at their absence the day after. But to a path less traveled by, and onto spiritual experience.


These stories call into question the notion that art should only function as parables of morality. The right course of action may actually stem from our animal nature that intellect seeks to repress and confine.

How many other kinds of experience do we shut ourselves away from by listening to the dictation of theory? How much secret knowledge do fauns possess in their Dionysian nature?

KING’S FAUN

We remember in fragments,

Like a glass frame, 

Shattered to the last vein, at the end of a long life.

And that’s where I remember mine,

Glinting at the bottom of a well, which we call ourselves.

The forest was all I had known.

Chasing through its shadows,

That day I came upon a bronze mask, 

Unlike anything I had seen before;

A relic on the forest floor,

Glowing in the moonlight.

A rose burst into flames before its gaze,

And the crows carolled in the wind, 

For me to follow the river’s maze and drench my sins.

And for days I was lost in the forest, 

Until I came upon a nymph, 

She kissed my face to my chin, 

And I found again the taboos of sin, 

And then I heard, the voice of a king;

“To covert of our Kingdom,

The stones of our courtyard, 

Where the lavender grew,

By the gates of Paradise and all that lies waiting for you.”

I can never recede, what I saw in the forest that eve,

The King Of Paradise called me to his side.

And this is where his secrets had led him,

His back had hunched and spiralled down his spine. 

The bones made of rocks and moss and his hide as course as mine.

“There’s a life I must admit to you,

If you will hear the story of how this came to be,

It will lead you through a labyrinth of dreams.” 

by Laurence Fuller, 2024

Enrique Martinez Celaya & Lita Barrie & Laurence Fuller ~ walk through an apple orchard /  by Laurence Fuller

Listen to our podcast with Whitehot Magazine ~ https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/art-world-whitehot-magazine-with-noah-becker/id1551013809?i=1000647482941

Yesterday Enrique Martínez Celaya walked Lita Barrie & I through his new body of work for two upcoming installations.

We discovered Enrique’s new paintings about Robert Frost’s apple tree orchard which was tended to by his son Carol. Above the tree, the words “everything is waiting for you” are written ~ the promise that contains all possible outcomes. The plane in the night sky soared above time and remained for us a constant.

We discussed poetry, painting & fairytales. The raw elements of a fairytale seem to float between the ocean and the sky in Enrique’s studio. And large symbols like a compass for the imagination. The raw materials of his childhood letters to his father, were adapted to large scale paintings for his upcoming installation. And a simple Kathe Kollowitz lithograph hangs above two dried out apples on his desk.

Enrique’s work has moved me since I first came across it in 2017 when we shared features in an issue of my late fathers magazine Modern Painters. My article chronicled my father’s founding of the magazine in 1986 and the relationships between art criticism and cinema today. Enrique’s article coincided with his exhibition at LA Louvre. Walking through it I felt I had come across a painter who had embodied poetry more than any other that comes to mind, today I still believe this to be true.

Our discussion which spanned the follies of poeticism, the imitations of intellectualism in the face of truth, Robert Frost and the allegories of art in our lives.

Listen to our podcast with Whitehot Magazine ~ https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/art-world-whitehot-magazine-with-noah-becker/id1551013809?i=1000647482941


The next day I started writing a poem from the perspective of Carol Frost, (an antagonist in Enrique’s upcoming exhibition) ;

Fields That Once Were There

In the orchard of my father, 

I wonder free ~ contained by the fence and just as far as I see.

I watched finches eating rotten apples by the side of the road this morning,

It was raining in a puddle nearby.

I saw fields reflected in their eyes,

Fields that once we’re there.

Bushes that now are bare,

Bounding with satyrs and hares.

I saw in the puddles of rain, the finches’ complexion,

The clouds above and heaven’s reflection.

The finch’s home no longer grows here,

I reached my hand into the puddle, 

And plucked from it a soaked rose.

The beast in me is alive again,

I feel bones burning beneath my skin.

And I told this to the finch.

He replied;

“The stars are burning too,

But they are cooled by the blue night,

And they make the earth glow with light.

Golden leaves wrap the fruit of fortune.”

He built all this for me, every tree planted with me in mind,

But did he mind to ask, what I did want for me and mine:

A family of my own one day, a task to ask at heavens gate.

For when I’m gone the task will be too late,

His weary eyes dropped past his tools and tired hands to mucky boots that barely stood him upright.

And all this now was not to freedom built an orchard from saplings grow day and night,

It was more tree house that trapped me in the door for vines that wrapped around its side.

What sketched he said were daubles, 

what I wrote he said was awful.

And those fields retracted,

Those fields that once were there.

When I was a boy I saw fields that stretched out to a place I saw the finches flying in sky.

Horizon bled to shutting, each and every night.

I saw a future where a life lived on my own,

A family where our fields of ripened fruit had grown.

And book upon the table, filled with my poems.

by Laurence Fuller, 2024

Rust /  by Laurence Fuller

Rust portraits collection on Emergent Properties, Generative AI ~ 333 editions at 66xtz

The Game

Send 1 portrait from either "Sovereign Set" or “Rust” to manuscript.tez to acquire a cinematic edition of Rust II.

There are three more “Chariots" to be uncovered within Rust. Three collectors of this trait will be airdropped the cinematic edition to "Chariots Of Paradise".

There are 23 potential rare characters (multiples of each) ~ if collectors mint one of the rare characters listed below they will receive airdrops of cinematic Shakespeare adaptations over the next six months.

Macbeth

Richard III

Iago

Titus Andronicus

King Lear

Lady MacBeth

Hamlet

Caliban

King Claudius

Cymbeline

Duncan

Malcolm

King John

Henry VIII

Richard III

Polixenes

Caesar

Marcus Antonius

Othello

Caligula

Desdemona

Ophelia

Cleopatra

RUST

What I saw that day the world turned to rust,
Beneath a red dawn,
Which fell like blood from the sky,
The burning red in my eyes,
Consuming all the time,
Like a snakes scales that shine different at night.

From Rust we are born,
Rust which comes from dirt,
Rust which came from the sea,
On the ghost of a whaling ship,
And forms over everything,
From ground to ceiling,
Crawled and vantage found,
Of severing, sweet, crumbling luster,
The steeple’s gargoyle and dagger’s handle,
I keep it safe for the God’s banquet,
Slumber, slip and place on the mantle.

And to the sacred seat,
Through the armour,
Through their conceit,
Everything drops to the floor,
Squirms in the rust.

I sent her to you,
So her rust would seep into your heart,
To corrode the blades,
Into pile of rust behind a horse and cart.

Snake skin peeled back,
Shed and left to flake,
The taste of rust on the breathe of a snake,
A dagger and a skate.

King John pulled from the marshes,
Where he waits.

Taunts the ghost of Caligula, 

Dressed in white,
It covered every grave and the ghosts Kings rose from where they lay.
The air turned to dust.

Rust in all the people’s eyes 

They gathered round his cloaked stance, 

As though he were a deity,
And there it slithered out the cup.

Fortune was not enough,
A golden weighted trough,
Gorge from its bluff,
We are the sediments of rust,

The serpent spoke my name,
She said we are the same,
Don’t believe these words,
Just like the red in the horses mane,
It’s just a game,
You see it as it passes,
But not when it’s gone.

If I am innocent they will not see,
The jagged edge of the dagger,
I see before me.

For what is power at the end of this corroding hour?

The moments drip onto metal spikes and sticks,
Swords clash and chink,
A mighty climb upon castles wet bricks,
Slip down the ladder for snakes to lick your heels.

The crown’s at the top, it can come close enough to steal,
What would you sacrifice to take it all?

Rest your faith upon the sword?
And rest your blade upon the board.

Drink wine with me brother,
Watch gold flow from your goblet and your mouth,
You are now one of ours.

by Laurence Fuller, 2023

@laurencefuller

www.laurencefuller.art

Graphite Method in Miami /  by Laurence Fuller

As we travelled from one digital art exhibit to another with Vincent’s manager Sam Maydew, his assistant Pamela Torres and friends from web3 art like Aljaparis, Victoria West, Andressa Furletti, Idaherself and KD always in tow ~ we discussed the importance of installations ~ that the physical and sensual experience of a work of art was as important to the viewer as the thing itself. Especially with the ephemeral, intimate and dreamlike pieces such as cinematic art. It’s quite a different experience watching a Stanley Kubrick film on an iMax screen compared to your laptop. The operatic nature of cinematic art comes into play. 

Our first stop Sparrow Cube VR Experience by Vincent, Sutu and myself, was neither of those things. A new kind of storytelling for poetics which changes with each experience, as the viewer determines the visual narrative. Soon after I was on a tezos panel, after Operator and Hans Ulrich Obrist from Serpentine Gallery. Ours was moderated by Victoria West and included my fellow speakers Patrick Amadon, Empress Trash and Andressa Furletti. It was timely to give a rebellious take on our position as artists amongst so many competing agendas in the space, we don’t represent any crypto project, we represent ourselves, we represent digital art culture, all its promise and all its human follies.

Vincent discussed with us over dinner that night, what it was like portraying real life characters as Jerry Falwell in “Eyes Of Tammy Faye” ~ an upstanding and powerful man, who compensates for a deep insecurity about his upbringing with a veneer of perfection.

Behaviour prevalent in all societies as it is a universal human desire to find what is lacking from our past in the present ~ as though maybe it will be good enough this time. “I was good enough to receive the love of my parents, my peers, those I looked up to before ~ if only I could be more thus; then I would be loved and feel complete.

Vincent D’Onofrio, Laurence Fuller and Aljaparis visiting the “Birth, Death and Action” triptych at the Sagamore exhibition with MakersPlace and Transient Labs

Much like the second panel of our triptych “Penny” exhibiting with MakersPlace and Transient Labs; making whole a memory that which was incomplete before. A connection that was broken with time and circumstance ~ nostalgia’s broken fragments of imagination. Something attempting a resolve of the subconscious in Vincent’s experience; to fall in love one evening with Penny.

Three panels make up the triptych “Birth, Death and Action” like three stages of life, from coming of age to romance to

This body of work first came about when having coffee with Vincent in New York in April. We’d just finished our third art collaboration “Way In The Deep” which was exhibiting at the Fable exhibition during NFT NYC and we were discussing our next moves. The idea came up to do a complete series about life in New York. 

Vincent D’Onofrio and Laurence Fuller visiting the “Birth, Death and Action” triptych at Nolcha Shows

I could tell this concept made Vincent feel a strong sense of ownership of the subject. Like it was a unique and unreplicable experience. 

The first drafts he sent me were very long, actually the longest pieces I’ve ever taken on. Quite mammoth in scope. Bear in mind this was back in June, when I started adapting the poetry visually. It was a life in three panels. An alternate version of Vincent’s life. He would talk to me about his early days in the punk scene in New York, how different life was in the 80s. “Welcome To My World” had to feel like the subjective experience of those times, a memory of walking out into the streets covered in rats and surviving mosh pits. 

The “Birth, Death and Action” triptych at the Sagamore exhibition with MakersPlace and Transient Labs

Penny was a much more refined affair. A suit and tie with a martini and beautiful girl. This mysterious figure somewhere in our collective pasts, though I have a feeling for Vincent it was something more specific (but I don’t know). I leant into the darkness again at first, I was maybe used to finding darkness in our collaborations and in this case Vincent kept pushing me to find the romance. Until I really started to see the tragic beauty in their unrequited love and the romance swept me away. I went out several times into the streets of LA with my iPhone camera (later reimagined into NYC and Central Park with AI) with different friends, namely Kate Spare who is a brilliant performer. I knew I had it after the last draft, as it made Vincent’s assistant Pamela cry. 

Vincent D’Onofrio and Laurence Fuller visiting the “Birth, Death and Action” triptych at Nolcha Shows

The Master stands on stage declaring that art is something to be owned and in possession of the elders. Therefore its decree to be dictated for what is and what is not art, to be heard only from them. Like the domineering father figure, telling the young, that they are not there yet.

It’s about a power struggle between apprentice and guru. There was a lot of me and Vincent in this one. Though our creative dynamics are rarely ever wrought with conflict. I kept swaying away from that but Vincent wanted to push the comparison further. He bought me a drone that would follow me as I walked so that I could film myself experiencing the young artist’s turmoil as the world came crashing down around him. I think it worked beautifully in the end and we see the bird trapped in a cage that he was talking about.

Working through these notes (and channeling the spirit of Allen Ginsberg ~ at the request of VerseVerse) I create the three part poem SOHO, about a young man finding himself in New York ~ wondering Soho and stumbling into the devil’s boudoir. The poem is very much a response to Vincent’s triptych and it was a great pleasure to read it alongside the VerseVerse in Miami before Vincent’s reading of his latest poem about the wicked. This poem is included in the Ginsberg catalogue published by Verse and has a cinematic triptych in the works.

(left to right) Desiree Casoni, Pamela Torres, Laurence Fuller, Victoria West, Vincent D’Onofrio, Sam Maydew and Andressa Furletti

The next day we found ourselves at the residence of digital art collectors Pablo Rodríguez-Fraile and Desiree Casoni, taking a tour of their private collection including Refik Anadol, Beeple and Pak. It was fascinating learning more about their reasons for collecting and the promise they saw in the future of digital art.

During the car ride to our next talk with Gamma about our first Ordinal. Dear friends Victoria West and Andressa Furletti accompanied us discussing the state of web3 art culture ~ and all its punkish rebellions.

Erin, Laurence and Vincent representing their triptych “No Fear, No Greed, No Envy” at Nolcha Shows, Ordinals edition

At the Gamma x Ordinals talk we discussed the historical significance of our first Ordinal piece “No Fear, No Greed, No Envy”, its story of the formation of United Artists and their grappling with the new artistic mediums of cinema and interventions of technology during their time. Bitcoin being the first blockchain and Satoshi’s manifesto defining the ethos of the space, has a lot of intersection with this pivotal time in art and technology.

What AI has enabled someone with a lot of creativity and some basic technical skill can do. Since Modernism this has been the case in fine art. The pure aesthetics of the abstract expressionists favoring feeling over perfection. Not that all paint on canvas was considered in that sense great art. 

Coming soon to Gamma…

But the capacity to tell a story within a visual or cultural language has taken precedence over technical execution. When it comes to value, it seems people desire what moves them ~ the human folly.

We’ve been developing the project for some months with Ordinally and some of the core dev team behind Ordinals protocol.

That night I enjoyed catching up with Corporeal Casey, Dave Krugman, Farokh, the Transient Labs team in Chris Ostoich, Daniel Volkov, David Feinstein and the cardboard cut out of Merve Sagyatanlar. KD spoke to us about his operatic project with the estate of Maria Callas.

Our final day we found ourselves admiring the works of Refik Anadol, Zancan and Jenni Pasanen at NFT Now Gateway exhibition in partnership with Christies. We bumped into the maker of our frame installations at Muse Frame and discussed our next installation. We left inspired by the excellent display and experience, that showcased digital art at its best, huge congrats to Medved and the whole NFT Now team behind this experience.

Caitlin Cruickshank (MakersPlace), Simon Hudson (from Botto), Laurence Fuller & Vincent D’Onofrio (Graphite Method)

We ended the trip on a high note with a fascinating discussion with MakersPlace and Transient Labs, moderated by the eloquent Caitlin Cruickshank about how our collaborations at Graphite Method are in many ways an evolution of Method Acting and in the operatic sense a fully immersive art form. As poetry, performance, music, cinematic arts and new technologies are brought together in a symbiosis of the imagination with all the senses.

I want to give special mention to the entire MakersPlace team on this adventure, whose tireless efforts in exhibiting digital art at the highest levels are exceeding all expectations, their attention to detail makes the whole in placement of the art and discussions about the art. Thank you to the team on the ground who helped us pull together “Birth, Death, and Action” ~ Craig L Palmer, Caitlin Cruickshank, Claus Enevoldsen, Kayvan Ghaffari, Aisha Arif, Georgia Louise, Parin and Jarid.

A big thank you also too Vincent’s manager Sam Maydew and Pamela Torres who were along for the ride at every step, finding new adventures and friends minute by minute ~ they helped us pull it all together.

“Through my own experience in show business I have realised that every legitimate artist has been through some form of experiencing having the leading role in a cage. It is an unfortunate cycle that is a part of having success in the entertainment world.” ~ Vincent D’Onofrio 

LAURENCE FULLER Q&A WITH MAKERSPLACE

  • Can you please introduce yourself to our readers?

I’m Laurence ~ I’m a storyteller, that’s the label I’ve resigned myself to. I write poetry out of my process as a method actor and I create cinematic art out of that poetry. I collaborate with others to bring to life worlds beyond my own, I perform and share those stories with people to take everybody on an adventure. 

  • Tell me about the piece you’re bringing to Miami with MakersPlace & Transient Labs.

This body of work first came about when having coffee with Vincent in New York in April. We’d just finished our third art collaboration “Way In The Deep” which was exhibiting at the Fable exhibition during NFT NYC and we were discussing our next moves. The idea came up to do a complete series about life in New York. 

I could tell this concept made Vincent feel a strong sense of ownership of the subject. Like it was a unique and unreplicable experience. 

The first drafts he sent me were very long, actually the longest pieces I’ve ever taken on. Quite mammoth in scope. Bear in mind this was back in June, when I started adapting the poetry visually. It was a life in three panels. An alternate version of Vincent’s life. He would talk to me about his early days in the punk scene in New York, how different life was in the 80s. “Welcome To My World” had to feel like the subjective experience of those times, a memory of walking out into the streets covered in rats and surviving mosh pits. 

Penny was a much more refined affair. A suit and tie with a martini and beautiful girl. This mysterious figure somewhere in our collective pasts, though I have a feeling for Vincent it was something more specific (but I don’t know). I leant into the darkness again at first, I was maybe used to finding darkness in our collaborations and in this case Vincent kept pushing me to find the romance. Until I really started to see the tragic beauty in their unrequited love and the romance swept me away. I went out several times into the streets of LA with my iPhone camera (later reimagined into NYC and Central Park with AI) with different friends, namely Kate Spare who is a brilliant performer. I knew I had it after the last draft, as it made Vincent’s assistant Pamela cry. 

“The Master” was about a power struggle between apprentice and guru. There was a lot of me and Vincent in this one. Though our creative dynamics are rarely ever wrought with conflict. I kept swaying away from that but Vincent wanted to push the comparison further. He bought me a drone that would follow me as I walked so that I could film myself experiencing the young artist’s turmoil as the world came crashing down around him. I think it worked beautifully in the end and we see the bird trapped in a cage that he was talking about. 

Three very distinct aesthetics that tell different parts of the same story and yet the panels speak to eachother. 

  • Optional: Is there anything special about this piece in the context of your body of work?

It was important for us to deal with a very pertinent subject where our three art forms intersect (poetry, cinema & fine art). One) the three line composition of a haiku two) the three act structure in film and three) the triptych in painting. 

Both literary and visual devices have been central dynamics to stories for hundreds of years. Yet they ran tangential to eachother. 

The very first triptychs in religious paintings were these panels that you could open and close and their purpose was to tell a different story with each variation of the three images. Later it took hold with figurative painters, with the likes of Francis Bacon, who redefined what the impact of a triptych could be when the various elements interact with eachother like in the portraits of George Dyer. This series is heavily influenced by Bacon and yet we took those aspects of the static image and gave them time, movement, sound, literature and performance. 

Cinematic art is its own experience entirely where a still image taps into a different part of our humanity. 

  • Can you share any specific rituals or practices that help you maintain your creative momentum?

Hubris, as long as I’m doing too much then I’m probably making progress. If I’m talking about art in the morning in spaces, then writing the poetry in the day, then creating visuals at night and planning exhibitions all along the way, falling asleep with my phone on my face, then that’s what progress feels like. 

There’s no lack of ideas to take across the finish line, but thankfully I taper myself to not have so many that nothing gets finished either. Once I get going on a piece or a few pieces at once I get very determined to finish them before starting anything else. 

  • How much planning or preliminary thought goes into each cinematic work?

I would say the poetry forms the blueprint of the artworks conceptually. Then I’ll start creating the still images of portraits and landscapes, like a storyboard. Sometimes that can come together quite quickly, but if there’s a lot of ambition behind the works (as there was with this triptych) then it can take many months. 

  • How would you describe how your work is currently evolving?

The artworks are coming closer and closer to my the fragmented memories and dreams of my subconscious. The most frustrating thing and also the most beautiful thing I found about method acting; was how you could spend days preparing for a single moment in a story and it would be over in seconds. Though that second would be completely full, condensed with all you put into the performance. There was still a lot that was lost, a lot of inspiring gems I found along the way that I wanted to create out of and share with the world

  • What do you hope people feel when they look at your art?

Either; euphoric, in an essential search for beauty ~ or turned on, possessed by some kind of naughty taboo power trip they can’t turn away from. 

  • Who or what else excites you in the art world (web3 or trad) right now?

The more of these exhibitions we have around the world, the more bound and determined we all feel ~ the more the culture is growing its legs and planting its feet. I love watching my peers grow throughout all this. We are becoming the roses that they planted seeds for just a few years ago, soon to be set alight by an everlasting flame. 

En Passant /  by Laurence Fuller

En Passant has now been airdropped to the three collectors who acquired the rare Pawn Portrait.

All Pawn and Sovereignty Set from Take The Throne Portraits were minted out and some sold on secondary.

30 Chariots Of Paradise cinematic works were discovered and airdropped from rare traits of Sovereign Set.

41 claims of Good Morning were made and 82 Pawn Portraits burned.

220 Ink were sent to manuscript.tez and burned to claim 22 artworks from the Take The Throne cinematic series.

The cinematic art to RUST will be revealed tomorrow on October 26th, along with full details about dynamics of Rust drop on Friday October 27th with Emergent Properties.

Rust is coming... /  by Laurence Fuller

In every good game, there are two opponents ~ in Take The Throne, there are guardians of the Sovereign and those of Rust.

I hope you know by now, the moves you make in this game determine an awful lot.

The bounty and the consequences of these moves will be revealed Wednesday, October 25th.

Your Move ~ The Pawn's Good Morning /  by Laurence Fuller

The morning is a moment of promise for us all.

Burn 2 Pawn Portraits to receive the cinematic piece to Good Morning. The edition size will be determined by the number of burns (max 333 editions, only if all Pawn portraits are burnt).

The burn window is open until Sunday, October 22nd.

Still some Pawn Portraits left on primary https://emprops.ai/projects/pawns-take-the-throne-portraits

“Sun drowned the night,

Though time at days rest,

Is the twilight of my torment.

There is still the restless impermanence of my being,

And the storm which the sky sent,

Before my soaring soul laid to rest,

I put this letter in a bottle.

For one last message is a page worth sending.

The reflection of dawn off the river,

Is time’s mirrored reflection unto me.

The gasping angel which sunk into night’s blistering shadows.

Made the treasures of youth,

Nothing more than the carousel of my imagination.

Righteous blackening hue,

Black ashen mountainside,

You are the other half of me that I must find.

There’s been enough golden flower beds glowing in our imagination, 

That the wind gusts breathless.

Wether we match the weather,

Storm clouds match the sweeping seas.

The guys of all vibrations to destiny,

And what I ever thought possible for me.

The matchsticks match the makers,

And Venus made a glance.

His waist coat, the suit cut marble,

In the light the flowers dance.

Submission to the night, 

The rose petals are soaked.

The Sun drowns behind the statue,

And the faded promise that today would be different is gone.

Giants in the rain as he gallops by the lake,

That leads to Elysium’s gate.

Ghosts on the wave at night,

Wading shorelines, 

Artisans cut the vines,

The life at sea, 

Mystics sleep in the rain.

Fall in love again, and again, and again,

Constant unending refrain.

Drop the curtains so I can feel love again.

You don’t know where my heart is,

It’s in an envelope on the way back to where we started.

While some lives will be changed forever,

Believe in yourself and the walls will fall heavier,

Can you know from a single day?

A single kiss?

Could it be so simple,

To simply say the words,

Although it sounds absurd,

To simply say the words.

A world collides in a verse,

All the trinkets of her purse.

Turn your back where beauty is forsaken,

And an ever widening way be laden,

For the bloom shall arise as the faithless descend,

And the bloom that’s in the air is always changing,

Never permanent.”

Laurence Fuller, 2023 

Take The Throne /  by Laurence Fuller

As October 6th approaches, and my first Generative AI collection is about to go live as part of the first wave of projects on the new Emergent Properties platform ~ I reflect on the cinematic series which started it all.

There is a timeless quality to chess ~ the analogue battles the players act out between themselves and from within represents a spirit of independence, strength and free will. Challenging a person’s capacity for conquest or merely a dialogue in the language of options the board presents is a fascinating place to begin a story.

Each of my cinematic art pieces include thousands of frames ~ the “Take The Throne” series contains approximately 24,000 frames. Each one I stand by as a contained work of art in its composition and storytelling.

For my first Generative AI drop I have distilled those frames and their stories into two collections of portraits.

Sovereign Set ~ 166 portraits

Pawns ~ 666 portraits

Chess is a game, so let’s play;

Every Pawn & Sovereign Set portraits acquired will be accompanied by the poetic text (ink) corresponding to the character trait ~ airdropped from Elysium Guild account.

Hold ink for the love of poetics, or burn 10 ink from Elysium Guild account (including the Pawn ink airdrop) to claim one of the cinematic art pieces from the original “Take The Throne” series. The “Pawns” cinematic piece currently has a floor of 500xtz.

There are rarity traits throughout both Pawns & Sovereignty collections;

Chariots Of Paradise ~ 33 Edition

The only way to claim my first cinematic edition on tezos in 6 months is to play the Sovereign Set;

If you mint one of 30 possible portraits that contain a Throne or Chariot from the Sovereignty Set you will be airdropped an edition of “Chariots Of Paradise” from my main account ~ these rare characters include;

“Prince” ~ “Princess” ~ “Rook Ghost” ~ “Bishop Snake” ~ “Knights Templar” ~ “Chariots” ~ “Queen Throne” ~ “King Throne”

There is approximately a one in five chance of minting a Chariot.

En Passant ~ 6 Edition

The only way to claim this rare cinematic edition of 6 is to play the Pawn Set and mint an “En Passant”. There is approximately a one in a hundred chance of minting an “En Passant”.

The Original Take The Throne Cinematic Series

So you want the throne?

Take the throne.

Do you think it was a seat I asked to sit?

Take the throne.

That its steel was grown around me?

Like the rain and mud and silt?

Take the throne.

No. It was,

The rust, the dagger and the unholy ilk.

Take the throne.

My gift to you and all that we have known,

Part a legacy,

Part my blood and grit and bone.

Take the throne.

By the sword and the sickle,

I embrace your heresy,

If you’ve got what it takes,

Take the throne.

One man is frail on his own,
But together we can take the throne,
Pass on this message,
No time for letters.

Fish bones for the vermin,
The human fire warms those that are closest,
In the distance those elsewhere freeze out on their own,
With bread however dry and we break it together,
A promise of forever,
The streets are cold and wet puddles black with soot of the city,
Floating down gutters of sleet and mess.

The secrets of the streets,
What to eat,
Which meat to share,
Scurry rats, scatter bones, gather leavings.

And the wharf, a mess with the city's misgivings.
Ships bring us in the night,
Bounty from other shores before the rabid dogs bite.

There’s more of us in tow,
More of us below.

Whispers in the streets,
One man is frail on his own,
But together we can take the throne.

Grab your pitchforks,
We’ll take what we deserve,
The King’s on his throne doesn’t smell the armies of dirt outside his window,
Doesn’t feel that hurt that we feel in the shadows,
If the weakest of us fall we pick them up,
Protest at the gallows,
For our way of life we bleed.

Soldiers at the front,
Taste the grit of battle,
Power in the fist,
Bleed for this,
We will never concede,
Blade to knuckle,
The lesser ones buckle,
Under the will to power,
Under the crest of that burning flower,
Pawns rise from the rubble.

To outshine the master is our greatest desire.

Raise the gate!!

Trapped in the halls with no escape,
Trapped in the labyrinth of this castle,
It’s cobbled bricks and go back centuries to this date,

I hear it’s voices,
Chasing through endless corridors,
Another turn at the end of every hall,
Leads to the pathway I swear I’ve been before,
Whispers leaking out the walls,

Trapped within and without,
The rules of the game,
Chambers of sound,
I’m surrounded by pages and pages and pages,
Rocks steady my feet on the ground,
Don’t slip for a minute,
There’s ghosts all around,
If I can hear them at least there’s a chance,

Make way for the King’s advance!

There’s a patter of footsteps,
I swear it’s not mine,
If I can find him ~ his presence divine,
To stop the enemy and raise the gate.
Wet walls with stone pushed into place,
A thousand years before,
The sentinel of war,
Spiraled my lost soul,
In a labyrinth of endless corridors,
Staircase to a lost world.

If I find him breathing at my back,
I know that I’m one step closer,
To finding him in the black.

I feel the walls closing in,
The game and all it’s been.
There, there he is in the garden,
Staring up at the sky.
Staring up at the sacred light ripped from the skies,
Beaming perpetual divinity from the rocks of solid mankind.
Exploding from the caverns under coal-mines.

Staring up at the sacred light ripped from the skies,
Beaming perpetual divinity from the rocks of solid mankind.
Exploding from the caverns under coal-mines.

At last, I can ask him, to raise up the gate.
Upon the perfect check mate.

Empires crumble into a basin,
The gardens of Golgotha,
Birthplace of all creation,
Where doves take flight in sudden elation,
As the sun bleeds in the dusk,
I drop to my knees in the churchyard its spires in thrust,
Where were you this day?

Frozen in the Everglades,
Or rolling your fingers down the blessed blade,
The reflections of chivalry,
Rally the cavalry,
She left his hope like hoove marks in the mud,

Galloping hooves,
Pounding hooves,
Swords clamor,
Amor and steel,

The plunder of the oceans bounty before them,
The prophets words still in their memory,

Cups full of blood,
Reflections of love,
Dragonfly crest,
Green that matched her green dress,

Reflections of a stable,
Where they went each day,
His touch each day is full,

Danger in his hooves,
Though courage hides the truth,
Sacred sound of youth,
Pounding on the wood,
Cabinets stained by cups of blood,
Lovers on the cusp,
The cups of blood,
Stained with love.

She shivers by the window,
Silver shines in the moonlight,
Grips the handle of his sword,
That feeling of the forbidden Knight.

Courage hides the truth,
Gold to pursue,
Steeds in the rain,
I’ll find my way back to you,
To the lady I can’t bare to refrain.

Reflections where it’s sealed,
Reflections on the road,
Reflections concealed,
Reflections he had known.

Reflections of the order,
Rolling waves of knights on the Crusade,
Templars united until the end of days,
Reflections on the water,
Reflections of holy lands,
Reflections of a blessed blade.

“Empires crumble into a basin
The gardens of Golgotha
Birthplace of all creation
Where doves take flight in sudden elation
As the sun bleeds in the dusk
I drop to my knees in the churchyard, its spires in thrust.

She shivers by the window,
Silver shines in the moonlight,
Grips the handle of his sword,
That feeling of the forbidden Knight.  

Daggers in the shadows,
Clink against the cobble stones,
Revenge is in the air and players of that board checkered the floor,
Splinters in my feet as I walk the boards,
Hissing in the corridors,
Snakes slither the floor,
Can’t promise the world if they can’t talk any more,
And can’t hardly whisper if they no longer walk,
Into the shadows I stalk,
A mystery in the miseries of humanity,
To turn one’s back on the almighty,
I’ll be waiting and oh what I sight to see,
The man himself without guard or armor,
In the unassuming grips of laughter,
Enjoy what the lord gave you,
For your last night on this earth,
Revenge on my lips,
Revenge of the bishop,
If you’re asleep when I visit, it cannot hurt.

In the citadels of halifax,
Dripping every wall with the thickest wax,
The regent’s poison in the goblets,
As they remove the blade that’s in their backs.

To see with more than eyes,
Read their moves like they’re written on their faces,
Across the board, across the sea of foreign places,
Poisoned cups are filled with lies,
Travel lands to different graces,
The end of eras filled the wax covered vases,
The glass cabinet which is her life,
To get through her, will take a sacrifice,”

Wax covered the walls,
Preservation in the palace halls,
To keep it safe within ourselves,
Our hope and sanctity,
Preservation above all else,

Preserve the covenant,
The armature
The chairs, the furniture,
Every detail, a mark to mature,
Ornaments to be sure,
Dispatch the holdings of the treasury,
What we said to put too readily,

Break the soul in two parts because it’s broken in the rectory,
Hopeless, lifeless for what she said to me,
Under the heal of endless revery
Broken on a lifeless life to be,
Preservation constrained and never free,
Wax covere,  leads to a better me,

To see with more than eyes,
Read their moves like they’re written on their faces,
Across the board, across the sea of foreign places,
Poisoned cups are filled with lies,
Travel lands to different graces,
The end of eras filled the wax covered vases,
The glass cabinet which is my life,
To get through me, will take a sacrifice,

Preserve The Queen to save the monarchy,
Paint the walls with wax,
And then fall to the floor and paint me.

In the citadels of halifax,
Dripping every wall with the thickest wax,
The regent’s poison in the goblets,
As they remove the blade that’s in their backs.

He ruled with iron, stone and a consummate throne,
Disciples crawling out of Gardens of bliss,
Shucked shells and opulent riddles, cannot resist,
Here Babylons and banquets exist,

A ruler with grace,
Kingdom flourished in a golden age,
Overall all he pervade,

"I bid my time,
My wish, my desire to reign over all that’s mine,
My years in the shadows, behind castle walls,
The loyalty of assassins,
I cloaked them in golden shawls."

His paradise perished away,
His kingdom now lies in the mist,
It’s fate sealed with a sickly sweat kiss,
Loved by his people, friend of the many,
Amongst the rubble a legacy,
His jewels ransacked, and his throne now empty,

An army’s trophies in scraps,
My time has come,
Desolation in the dusts of war
Surround as I rise.

The remnants of a paradise that lies like rotten fruit on rusted platters, it’s raw,
It’s black in the skies.

Now it’s all that I pervade and the kingdom remains,
Ascension ~ a King at the coronation,

At the end of a blade,
For my kingdom will prosper,
And the throne ~ it’s mine.

A seat,
A board of black and white,
Players compete,
A game, the metaphor for life,
Pieces, move in the silence,

Kings and queens trust by the knife.

The board, a battlefield,
Where pawns are sacrificed,
Where bishops are slaughtered by knights,
Where castles stand and fight,

We find our marble in time,
Rooks march in a line,
Stings protect the queen’s hive,
The seat where the king must decide,
The fate of the game in his hands to abide.

A canvas of thought,
Brushes of war,
Fine metal jaws,
Clash with their armor,
Victory!
At the end of it all, just a simple wooden board.

Figs & Bees /  by Laurence Fuller

Melted through the clouds one morning,

I saw all the colors that winter forgot.

Flourishing in the between, 

After the shadows,

Where life started fresh.

My farmers bed of thyme,

Figs and bees,

Grape vines under the trees,

The courage of new life to stretch its feet.

The snails crunch up to the garden bench by my shoes,

I lift my boot above it’s shell,

And hesitate.

A spider of fall,

Knot a web round bugs that wayward tred,

Wrapped in threads to their last breathe,

While the wet morning melts now fresh.

Stumbling into the garden, 

Raving and tucked, 

Tearing apart the shrubs and doorways.

Never your own accord, 

Never your fault, 

Never accepted until I revolt.

Into the garden I hunker like a boulder, 

Crunching flowers like the catalyst.

Tearing up patches of grass, 

From the mulch, much like ripping my hair from its follicles.

The Sun did scorch the weltering red welded wealth,

Watching the cinders burnt charred dust,

A bed of dust,

A rusted redness bursting from the flames I bled.

Trapped behind gusts of torment,

And the throws of lust.

But… The year does pass, 

And the rain does calm the heat at least,

As long as I keep reading.

The sun brought out all the colors that winter forgot,

That winter forgot,

The sun brought out all the colors that winter forgot,

The bees rings ran hot,

God it’s hot,

A cup of water.

Remember when the garden grew around us,

Bees have tongues,

And little birds sang that song we trust,

The ice melted and something about love,

Something that I read in this book,

It said; “patience and the wind blows that pollen to your taste.”

The sun brought out all the colors that winter forgot.

MODERN ART: David Hockney Interview /  by Laurence Fuller

Hockney is perhaps the best known of the British 'pop’ artists who emerged from the Royal College of Art in the early 1960s. This interview was recorded in 1977, following Hockney’s contribution to the Hayward Annual of that year and his criticisms of the exhibition in a Fyfe Robertson television programme.

FULLER: The remarks you made on Fyfe Robertson’s programme were unusually provocative for you. Did the 1977 Hayward Annual make you angry?

Read More

DIG X ~ The Reveal /  by Laurence Fuller

As Kopfgestaltung and I were carving away at the Tablets drop based on Michelangelo’s Moses, we had the crazy thought ~ what if Moses’ tablets were to slip and smash into fragments on the ground and each one would represent one of the Ten Commandments. Then each Fragment would drop in secret on HEN in collaboration with other artists whose work would fit the classic theme and people would have to follow the clues to find it, like an archeological dig... It’s been a wild ten days and I’m very proud to now present the first ever NFT collaborative series dropped entirely in secret ~ DIG X in full!

Fragment X: Rex ~ Visuals & Music by @Kopfgestaltung ~ Original Poetry & Performance by Laurence Fuller @LaurenceFuller

Clue X was: Each clue will lead you to this, the eagles flight from its perch down the gullies that ring with other voices. Speaking lost in the shadows with other people’s words; all leads the traveler to find oneself anew. What’s in a name but the location of Elysium.
Based on the Commandment: Thou shall not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain

Fragment IX: Sirens ~ Visuals by Mihai Grecu @the_grecu ~ Original score by Laurence Fuller ~ Poetry adapted from “Iliad” by Homer ~ Performance by @LaurenceFuller

Clue IX: Faint echoes on the edge of dystopia, ruins of a fallen civilization crumble while a chorus of melancholy lures weary sailors.

Based on the Commandment: Thou shalt not commit adultery

Fragment VIII: Invidia ~ Visuals by Dark Ghoul @_dark_ghoul ~ MUSIC :The Hungry Ghost - I Think I Can Help You ~ Poetry adapted from “Sarires” by Horace ~ Performance by Laurence Fuller @LaurenceFuller

Clue VIII: Golems covet gold in the dark, they hide it from their neighbors ~ ghoulish laughs can be heard with whispers of their favorite.

Based on the Commandment: Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour's goods

Fragment VII: Pater Maris ~ Visuals by Sønken @rijstplukker ~ Poetry adapted from “Aeneid” by Virgil ~ Performance by Laurence Fuller @LaurenceFuller ~ Music: Symphony no. 9 in Em, 'New World' - IV. Allegro con fuoco. Composed by Antonín Dvořák ~ Performed by Symphony Orchestra.

Clue VII: Night falls, glowing through the ashened darkness the shore patters it's waves against the rocks peopled with ancients. The Gods whisper fables to nymphs & cherubs here.

Based on the Commandment: Honour thy father and thy mother.

Fragment VI: Suffuror ~ Visuals by Daniel Martin @DanielMartinNL ~ Poetry adapted from “The Satires” by Horace ~ Music ‘Peer Gynt’ by Edvard Grieg ~ Produced and performed by Laurence Fuller @LaurenceFuller

Clue VI: The Iron Lady and the like gather to conspire for what politicians do & in that chamber portraits of leaders past faded in grey tones by cigar smoke.

Based on the Commandment: Thou shalt not steal

Fragment V: Rixor ~ Visuals by @KX________ ~ Original poetry and performance by Laurence Fuller @LaurenceFuller

Clue V was: Dark whispers are heard about thy neighbors in the Corridors Of Paradise where the Flame of Truth hangs. Echoing quarrels about embracing angels, a big drooping tongue and a red balloon.

Based on the Commandment: Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbour.

Fragment IV: Caedes ~ Visuals by @_Mwan_ ~ Sound and score by Mwan ~ Poetry based on ‘Pompeii’ by William Giles adapted by Laurence Fuller ~ Performance by @LaurenceFuller

Clue IV was: Gold. Burning Gold. Gold bleeds through the ashes. Gold pours from the mountains. Until there was only silence and their souls languished in Gold.

Based on the Commandment: Thou shalt not kill.

Fragment III: Tempus ~ 3D Digital Sculpture by @jopfe0815 ~ Poetry based on the Percy Shelley’s ‘Ozymandias’ reinterpreted by Laurence Fuller ~ Original score and Performance by @LaurenceFuller

Clue III was: As the sun peaks it's first glimpse on the Sabbath like Mona Lisa’s smile at break of day ~ Regal calls can be heard in the valley and carry in my heart.

Based on the Commandment: Remember to keep holy the Lord's Day.

Fragment II: Mordere Malum ~ 3D Digital Sculpture by Voltaine @Voltaine1 ~ Inspired by The Venus De Milo ~ Poetry based on the Latin poem Pervigilium Veneris reinterpreted by Laurence Fuller ~ Performance by Laurence Fuller @LaurenceFuller

Clue II was: After Virgil wrote that Aeneid was her son, many long journies left her scoured, once discarded and rediscovered, her beauty was converted for centuries ~ the envy of all France’s neighbors. All the while her new creator covets Norwegian Noir.

Based on the Commandment: Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour's wife.

Fragment I: Reverentia ~ 3D Digital Sculpture by Oddcrow @oddcr0w ~ Inspired by The Death of Laocoon ~ Poetry from ‘Aeneid’ by Virgil ~ Performance by Laurence Fuller @LaurenceFuller

Clue I was: Worship at the altar of the sea, until a black bird flies south with a serpent in its mouth.

Based on the Commandment: I am the Lord thy God: thou shalt not have strange Gods before me.

The Heiress /  by Laurence Fuller

It was a great pleasure to be able to setup a 3D exhibition for this series in the metaverse, I would like to encourage everybody to check out this exhibition in the metaverse and then leave us feedback here or on my Twitter: https://oncyber.io/heiress

I chose the abandoned church I suppose in the tradition of a lot of the great galleries in London which come out unexpected locations like Whitechapel and White Cube. There’s a feeling of a connecting to the relics of history with the space, time forgotten ruins that are reconstructed and contemporized, much like the way Senju and I go about our respective practices and what brought us together.

Preview available oncyber above, Full drop on Foundation

Preview available oncyber above, Full drop on Foundation

Senju’s work has become very popular on instagram because at first glance it is traditional Japanese art of the highest quality, but then the longer you spend with it you notice subtle influences of the present which begin to make themselves known to the viewer. Before long you realize you are in the grips of a contemporary artist, what still may not be evident until further inspection into Senju’s process is that he’s creating all this not with traditional Japanese brushes, but with a digital pen. Pretty astounding and hard to think of anyone who is working in this way, so successfully.

This new medium working with fine artists and adding that performative aspect to the work with my poetry would not have been possible in any other medium other than NFTs. Anyone whose been following my social media knows I was experimenting with this sort of new media on my social media for a couple years, but never to this extent and with these production values. NFTs have provided a frame for spoken word poetry and fine art to come together much like these elements come together in cinema. So all of that has been a very natural progression for me and the work that I’ve been doing.

I can probably only describe the sort of poetry I write as being Neo-Romantic. Lord Byron is one of my favorite poets, his work Don Juan was reflective of his statues as the bad boy of the Romantic poets. The great seducers throughout history, have all had in common a sense of taboo, between an obsession with the pursuit of pleasure and by contrast the appearance of restraint. I wanted for the performances to be non-linnear and not at all to feel like a poetry reading. I want the abstract soundscapes to work on the subconscious like a dream and for the piece itself to be calmly hypnotic, I’m going to continue working in this way, the goal is to see if this experiment will have a deeper and more complete experience for the viewer both with poetry and with art.

The other actor in the piece is Cynthia San Luis who did an amazing job with her voice performance. I wanted to give both characters much of the same dialogue as the power dynamics and control is passed back and forth between the masculine and the feminine although the feminine energy is mostly the one taking the reigns throughout.

Obviously as a classically trained actor its been a real blessing to have an outlet to practice my craft, but even after the theatres and the cinemas return to life post-Covid, I will continue to work in this way as well.

I want to give a quick shout out and a big thank you to NFTipi (Clarina) for hosting our drop party on Clubhouse on Wednesday and to everyone who showed up and participated in the event, it was a great experience for both me and Cynthia to take part amongst such supportive community of artists!

View the full drop here on Foundation

2021 is the New Era for Spoken Word Poetry /  by Laurence Fuller

Up until just this year all forms of poetry were considered really niche and the realm of hobbyists, but since Amanda Gorman rocked the world with her inauguration poem, spoken word has become something more than a local cafe interruption. Gorman’s chap book ”The Hill We Climb” became an Amazon best seller for the first time in the history of contemporary poetry. 

Hussain Manawer introduced the BAFTAs, paying homage to every nominated film seamlessly weaving throughout the narrative.

David Bianchi and myself found a new home in NFTs, respectively. Before I go into David’s work more in depth, it’s evident we both offer very different things to the landscape of contemporary, spoken word poetry, and nft performative art. My work has a relationship to the past and a questioning of the classics, my goals is to contemporize the fine art tradition for our time and to hold myself accountable to the same standards that I would with a Shakespeare play or a film. I’ve always had a strong connection to paintings, sculpture and the fine art tradition through my family bonds (my mother the painter Stephanie Fuller and my father the late art critic Peter Fuller), attending art openings was a weekly family outing growing up. I won eight awards and 35 Finalist placements at writing competitions in the last year for my screenplay based on his life, MODERN ART. NFTs have become such a collaborative medium and there it really is hard to think of any other time in art history where this would have been possible to put together so many diverse disciplines much like we do in film. Fine art and poetry have shared a very similar emotional space, in particular with the likes of Baudelaire who regularly wrote poems in response to the art of his time and was also a notorious art critic. But never before was there a medium which allow the blending of these two mediums into one piece, allowing a verbal narrative or soundscape to the visual. NFTs allow us that freedom. David Bianchi and I came up around the same time, both actors and poets in our own right - I minted and sold my first spoke word poetry collaboration with artist Sima Jo “Childish Force Of Nature” on March 20th in my collection Elysium Verto: https://opensea.io/collection/elysium-verto-v2

Parts I-IV all sold on Opensea for 0.333ETH each, Parts V-VII will be revealed at an upcoming group exhibition honoring the Ocean on Kalamint. I’ve been so impressed by their ecological inspirations and of course carbon neutral technology. I’ve partnered up with Charitas Foundation who will be matching any charitbale contribution I make to Ocean conservation through the sale of my NFTs on Kalamint. The exhibition will also feature collaborations with my mother Stephanie Fuller celebrating whales in the fight against commercial whaling.

This NFT is also presently the only way to get ahold of my Novella THE FORTUNE, an allegory for commercial whaling.

This NFT is also presently the only way to get ahold of my Novella THE FORTUNE, an allegory for commercial whaling.

A collaboration with GAN artist Doodle Dips called “Winged Urchins” will also be featured alongside a number of new collaborations celebrating the beauty of nature.

Around the same time I got started, David minted “I Can’t Breathe” in honor of George Floyd - David’s work is about social justice and giving a radical contemporary voice to these important issues in society regarding diversity. So I would like to pay respects to my fellow poetic warrior and give him the space to tell his story here:

George Floyd's death sparked an outcry heard around the world. 

Actor / Poet David Bianchi’s film, “I Can’t Breathe” (directed by Award Winner Ryan LeMasters) gives an honest and painful portrait of a man of color’s view on America’s new civil rights movement and the pain of black history in America.

The film was broadcast live on KTLA 5 News Award-Winning Series “Breaking Bias” and was covered in the elite Hollywood trade Deadline. The film has roused critical acclaim across the country.

"A gut-wrenching view at the pain of America. A Cinematic poetic force of nature."

                                               - Deadline - Hollywood.

--Poetry Excerpt--

Is it really not enough when the rubber bullets fly

When the world is enraged from watching a black man die?

Gasping for breath and says I can’t breathe

His esophageal tube collapsed under a man’s knee.

Is it really not enough to wake in wake of hate

Perpetuated by a system dating back to negro slaves

Beat that black man make him pick cotton

Shoot that black man he looks like he’s up to something!

Is the American fury not enough for you

Crowds plowed by vans driven by the men in blue?

Who do you call when the cops are the killers?

When the body camera footage shows you murdering my brothers and sisters

Is the execution of man still not enough for you

Jury judge and executioner by the man in blue!

You look down at us for behaving like an angry mob

If every man is created equal what gives you the right to play God?

---

"These times are calling for understanding. The global movement to abolish racism is here," said Bianchi. "I tell the story honestly to offer a hopeful perspective on why the fury runs so deep."

David says, “Spinema is the culmination of all things I am as an artist. I am an actor, a poet, a screenwriter, film producer and film director. Spinema at its roots incorporates the rhythmic poetic word that operates as the script. It uses all the languages of cinema (picture, light and sound) while evoking elements of sometimes subtle, sometimes visceral performances through evocation of the rhythmic deliveries. Spinema requires a specific kind of on-camera-poetic-talent that can affect the nuances of the language, while being modest to the sotto nature of cinema. 

 There are no limits to how these important stories can be told in both traditional cinema and in the metaverse. The metaverse provides a unique never before utilized platform for Spinema that is yet unknown. This is a new, but not final frontier. However, it promises the deepest possible interaction with audience members like never experienced before.” 

David has a library of completed films and his next mint is a film starring Malcolm-Jamal Warner alongside him.

His films will continue to be minted and very auction will donate money to a charity associated with the theme of each film. 

Sold for 5ETH to MetaPurse: WATCH - I CAN’T BREATHE - HERE > https://ephimera.com/tokens/i-can-t-breathe-a-spoken-word-film-by-david-bianchi-267