6 August 2011


Summersap, acrylics on rice paper, 2011

Sea, rock , sky

Sea, rock, sky, 2011

                                       ~~~~~~~~To zoom in, please click on images~~~~~~~

4 August 2011

Olivetree, ink, 2011



3 August 2011

Getting ready. Προετοιμασία.

H Proetimasia, ink on 'Kraft' paper, 2011

~~~~~~~~To zoom in, please click on images~~~~~~~~~~~

Instructions on how to make your own Moleskin -type notebook 

Gardenhorse, wet charcoal on prepared paper, 2011

Landhorse, wet charcoal pencil on prepared paper, 2011

from the studio

1 August 2011

Apricot tree.

Apricot tree, acrylics on prepared paper, 2011

Aerasftero, 2011

Ένας ουρανός ανασαίνει για σας,
ματάκια μου,
τώρα που απομείνατε ορφανά
από κάθε καημό,
και αγκαλιάζετε μονάχα ένα χρώμα.

Γιώργος Σαραντάρης

31 July 2011

Λίγο πριν τον Αύγουστο...

Tree, 2011

Ἡ καρδιά μας
Ἡ καρδιά μας εἶναι ἕνα κῦμα ποὺ δὲν σπάει στὴν ἀκρογιαλιά.     
Ποιὸς μαντεύει τὴ θάλασσα, ἀπ᾿ ὅπου βγαίνει ἡ καρδιά μας; 
Ἀλλὰ εἶναι ἡ καρδιά μας ἕνα κῦμα μυστικό, χωρὶς ἀφρό. 
Βουβὰ πιάνει μία στεριά. 
Καὶ ἀθόρυβα σκαλίζει τὸ ἀνάγλυφο ἑνὸς πόθου, 
ποὺ δὲν ξέρει ἀπογοήτευση καὶ ἀγνοεῖ τὴν ἡσυχία.

Γιῶργος Σαραντάρης

24 July 2011

The path

Traveling, acrylics on prepared paper, 2011

I'll tell you a big secret, my friend:  Don't wait for the Last Judgment.  It happens every day. 

~Albert Camus, The Fall, 1956


Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none.  ~William Shakespeare

Stillhorse, acrylics on prepared paper, 2011

27 June 2011


Horsefield, acrylic, oil pastel, charcoal pencil

Forget the suffering
You caused others.
Forget the suffering
Others caused you.
The waters run and run,
Springs sparkle and are done,
You walk the earth you are forgetting.

Sometimes you hear a distant refrain.
What does it mean, you ask, who is singing?
A childlike sun grows warm.
A grandson and a great-grandson are born.
You are led by the hand once again.

The names of the rivers remain with you.
How endless those rivers seem!
Your fields lie fallow,
The city towers are not as they were.
You stand at the threshold mute.

Czeslaw Milosz

Και για μένα δεν προσεύχομαι μοναχά,
Αλλά για όλους, αυτούς που στάθηκαν μαζί μου στη σειρά
Στη ζέστα του Ιούλη, στο ψύχος του χειμώνα
Κάτω από τον τόσο κόκκινο, τον τοίχο, κι αθώρητο ακόμα.

Άννα Αχμάτοβα

26 June 2011


Καὶ θυμᾶμαι τὸν ἥλιο ποὺ γελοῦσε

Πού γελοῦσε καὶ δάκρυζε θυμᾶμαι

Γιῶργος Σαραντάρης

Pinetree, water colour

                           for Michael Longley

                           As a child, they could not keep me from wells
                           And old pumps with buckets and windlasses.
                           I loved the dark drop, the trapped sky, the smells
                           Of waterweed, fungus and dank moss.

                           One, in a brickyard, with a rotted board top.
                           I savoured the rich crash when a bucket
                           Plummeted down at the end of a rope.
                           So deep you saw no reflection in it.

                            A shallow one under a dry stone ditch
                            Fructified like any aquarium.
                            When you dragged out long roots from the soft mulch
                            A white face hovered over the bottom.

                            Others had echoes, gave back your own call
                            With a clean new music in it. And one
                            Was scaresome, for there, out of ferns and tall
                            Foxgloves, a rat slapped across my reflection.

                           Now, to pry into roots, to finger slime,
                           To stare, big-eyed Narcissus, into some spring
                           Is beneath all adult dignity. I rhyme
                           To see myself, to set the darkness echoing.

                          Seamus Heaney
                          Personal Helicon

Όποιος ποτέ του δεν αγάπησε, θ' αγαπήσει, στο φως...

Γιώργος Σεφέρης


25 June 2011


Δῶρο στὴν ἁγνή μας οὐσία

Γιῶργος Σαραντάρης

Bluehorse, (watercolour, charcoal pencil, ink, pastel)

Memory believes before knowing remembers.

William Faulkner

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