There are four red finger swipes essentially dissecting this girl, but these marks are simply there to set the mood, which they do. It’s an emotional piece… one that makes me think of abuse and how it leaves one broken.
Untitled Image by Vanessa Cate
Journal by Mitch Shiwal
Sketch & Journal by Mitch Schiwal
The sketch was called “Partheniad”. The concept was to draw someone bearing stigmas of a sexual nature. However the subject of the piece was not a sexual being, rather a virgin. Because fuck preconceptions.
Partheniad: A poem in honor of a virgin.
This is a doll that I made of my fiance using sculpy and bent paper clips. I can’t sew, so he is topless. He also has no feet. After I finish a face I tend to lose interest.
by Angie Hoover-Hillhouse
His ruined ears can hear no truth
His soiled hands can share no warmth
I know his eyes seem soft at times
but they’ll steal what’s good in you
you’re just his fool
you’re just his fool
dance a jig to make him laugh
you’re just his fool
his loyal fool
Good Old Captain Crow
Your pity gets the best of you
that crooked fool you see is you
i know he’s lonesome, lost, and blind
but you can’t bring him back to life
“Captain Crow” from unfinished musical titled A Woman Made Cold
& Partial Portrait of a Man by Angie Hoover-Hillhouse
More of Angie’s poetry here:
https://theshowtellproject.wordpress.com/category/angie/poetry-angie/
Beauty is mysterious;
finding mere pieces of Her is all we can ever hope to do.
In an effort to understand how truth and beauty are created, we regularly break down large perplexing works into more manageable pieces.A novel is merely a group of chapters, which is a group of paragraphs, which is a collection of sentences, etc. All interesting subjects become the victims of criticism, the Self included.
The artist’s perception of the world cannot be separated from her perception of self. Ultimately, she is another mystery worthy of dissection and interpretation.One whose smaller parts offer glimmers of truth that can be seen, but never truly captured.
photo by Jaq Vega
journal by Angie Hoover-Hillhouse
You can’t offer men that which is tender and warm
When your heart is so spoiled it curdles fresh blood.
When your footsteps are warning of mercilous storm
and your souring milk tastes of cold bitter mud.
Once a beautiful flower now drowning in waste
while the fields that surround you flourish in light
that which can feed you, you fear for its taste
So you comfortably rot in the darkness of night
Opening Poem for an unfinished musical titled A Woman Made Cold.
by Angie Hoover- Hillhouse
More of Angie’s Poetry here:
https://theshowtellproject.wordpress.com/category/angie/poetry-angie/
I am terrible at drawing backgrounds, so I usually just cut out my drawings and stick them in ziplock bags.
by Angie Hoover-Hillhouse
I drew this 4 years ago while I was waiting for a call from Evan (now my fiance). I thought he didn’t like me.
by Angie Hoover-Hillhouse
The Show Tell Project 