At the time man discovered fire, women let all their hair grow. The raging passion of a woman's desire, the wildness of an intense raging heat, the giving to a rampant angry shaft in search of its sheath. That is the story of Bush Fires.
Art is fantasy and fantasy art. Deviant or otherwise. Is it sexual? Does it arouse the viewer? Even the female viewer? Do you think it arouses the artist?
Consider Guinevere. Has nothing to do with the Queen or Sir Lancelot. Or does it? The Lady and her lover. The raging unharnessed passion of the stallion; the sweet playfulness of dolphins. The forest in which mysteries unfold as man discovers the swelling pendulous breasts that is woman.
The Storm is another story. Bodering on the pornographic. Actually no. Its visualisation is pornographic. But there's a story of love. Few women will happily indulge in fellatio unless there is love for her man. Even fewer perhaps in anal sex. There is joy, ecstacy and passion in the depiction -- the red rose tells you that!
The Sunflower Field is about happiness; a carefree life that goes unpunished because the Devil does not exist. The full lushness of a bountiful life, virile and productive, fertile and bursting with ecstatic energy.
The Eruption is the little death. The closest you get to heaven without actually dying. Sometimes the climax of a mesmerising trance. Often it is a release from madness. For both of us, woman and man, the eruption is the end we seek out to achieve; the zenith of something that begins from the very bowels of our being -- the source.
Farzana and the artist both dreamt of each other; day dreams and hot sweaty midnight dreams. But they never met. Yet they knew one another; each other's caresses, their exchange of kisses, the frenzied love-making -- all these were very real to both of them
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