Archeological Reminiscence Millet’s Angelus via Salvador Dali

The Beauty of Night by Liam Wong

Liam Wong is an award-winning Art Director passionate about creating and designing meaningful aesthetics. Originally from Scotland, two years into his career he moved over three thousand miles from home into his current position (Graphic Design Director at Ubisoft Montréal); becoming the youngest director at the largest games development studio in the world.

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The Poor Ghost - Christina Rossetti

Oh whence do you come, my dear friend, to me,

With your golden hair all fallen below your knee,

And your face as white as snowdrops on the lea,

And your voice as hollow as the hollow sea?"

"From the other world I come back to you, My locks are uncurled with dripping drenching dew. You know the old, whilst I know the new: But tomorrow you shall know this too."

"Oh not tomorrow into the dark, I pray; Oh not tomorrow, too soon to go away: Here I feel warm and well-content and gay: Give me another year, another day."

"Am I so changed in a day and a night That mine own only love shrinks from me with fright, Is fain to turn away to left or right And cover up his eyes from the sight?"

"Indeed I loved you, my chosen friend, I loved you for life, but life has an end; Thro' sickness I was ready to tend: But death mars all, which we cannot mend.

"Indeed I loved you; I love you yet If you will stay where your bed is set, Where I have planted a violet Which the wind waves, which the dew makes wet."

"Life is gone, then love too is gone, It was a reed that I leant upon: Never doubt 1 will leave you alone And not wake you rattling bone with bone.

"I go home alone to my bed, Dug deep at the foot and deep at the head, Roofed in with a load of lead, Warm enough for the forgotten dead.

"But why did your tears soak thro' the clay, And why did your sobs wake me where I lay? I was away, far enough away: Let me sleep now till the Judgment Day

Alone - Edgar Allan Poe

From childhood's hour I have not been As others were; I have not seen As others saw; I could not bring My passions from a common spring. From the same source I have not taken My sorrow; I could not awaken My heart to joy at the same tone; And all I loved, I loved alone. Then- in my childhood, in the dawn Of a most stormy life- was drawn From every depth of good and ill The mystery which binds me still: From the torrent, or the fountain, From the red cliff of the mountain, From the sun that round me rolled In its autumn tint of gold, From the lightning in the sky As it passed me flying by, From the thunder and the storm, And the cloud that took the form (When the rest of Heaven was blue) Of a demon in my view.

Fire and Ice - Robert Frost

Some say the world will end in fire, Some say in ice. From what I’ve tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire. But if it had to perish twice, I think I know enough of hate To say that for destruction ice Is also great And would suffice.

Ernst Karl Eugen Koerner (1846-1927) - Patio della Reina, Alcazar, Sevilla, oil on canvas, 140,3 x 100 cm. 1909.

Indian Temple, Said to be the Mosque of Abo-ul-Nabi, Muttra, Thomas Daniell, 1827

Hagar and Ishmael in the Desert, Emanuel Krescenc Liška

Félix Ziem - Ruins, Palmyra

Interior of the Mosque at Cordoba, Edwin Lord Weeks. 1880.

The 491st Night, the Story of Abu Kier and Abu Sier; the Astonishment of the Coloured Dyeworks Anton Pieck 1943-1954

Orientalist indian scene by Alberto Pasini

An Egyptian Peasant Woman And Her Child 1870

Leon Bonnat

José Tapiró y Baró

José Tapiró y Baró

José Tapiro y Baro

 José Tapiro y Baro, Moor in a headdress, c1890s