:: p a s s i o n :: the man of sorrows

...the Sacrifice...

…He is dragged into an underground room, the false prophet duly bound, and beset with blows, they spit upon his face… They remove his clothes and bind him, naked, to a column… The lashes fall upon his back, on his shoulders, on his loins. They fall upon his thighs and calves, creating deep grooves in his flesh and long blue bruisings beneath the skin. The flagrum is finished with small pieces of sheep bones attached by braided leather thongs upon the end. Satan is there, breathing hatred into them. At each stroke, the body gives a painful shudder. They flog him until his back is in ribbons, until he faints and blood falls from him like rain…

‘…Et factus in agonia, prolixius orabat. Et factus est sudor ejus sicut guttoe sanguinis decurrentis in terram…'(And being in an agony, he prayed the longer. And his sweat became as drops of blood, trickling down upon the ground…)(Lk. XXII, 43, 44.)

…And, bearing his cross he goes forth into a place of the skull called Golgotha… And, there they crucify him with two thieves on either side… Driving iron nails between the small bones of both wrists they secure him to the wooden cross and there the weight of his body is held… With knees bent the hammer falls again and again driving nails through the arch of his feet so they press back flat against the wood… but the agony has scarcely begun… and he thirsts…

And, it is now the third hour and they crucify him still… His face is gaunt and drawn, his pale face streaked with blood from the crown of thorns that impales his skull… His throat is on fire and he thirsts… A swarm of great yellow and blue bottle flies engulf him, lighting upon his wounds to bury their eggs into his rotting flesh… And now it is the sixth hour, and the sun falls from the sky and a great darkness comes over the land in a cloud of locusts… Vultures steal down and pluck out his eyes, ripping tender morsels from his flesh…

… And, it is now the ninth hour, and he feels the chill of death creeping through him. He whispers, his voice rasping like cobwebs, “I am poured out like water, and all my bones are out of joint. My heart has turned to wax and has melted away within me. My strength is dried up like ashes, and my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth; you lay me in the dust of death…”

His breath hisses in a slow exhale: “it is done”, then slack-jawed, his face becomes vacant and lost… He has given up the ghost…

bitt

...the Resurrection...

…And three long days did pass, since his lifeless body was wrapped and layed inside the cave… from womb to tomb and back again… …And when the sabbath was past, Mary Mag’dalene came when it was yet dark unto the shadows of the sepulchre, bringing spices to anoint his flesh… And, like the Gods Osiris and Dionysus before him, he had risen from the dead… birthed newborn from the virgin’s earthy womb, an animated corpse, his flesh sewn like a patchwork quilt with the blood of his fateful wounds… raised from the sorrows of Hell… …And, there inside came a ghostly light that spoke to her and told her: “Be not afraid… Do not seek the living amoung the dead…” But she was very afraid and her body trembled as she was filled with a terrible fear… …the walls were silent to her final scream…

...the Ascention...

…The Messiah came, and he led them by the hand, far away to Bethany… Then he kissed them and raised his hands and said: “See my hands and feet that bleed with Stigmata… See me, a spirit wrapped in flesh and bones that does not breathe…” …And, his countenance was like lightning, and his flesh pale as the moon, as he grew suddenly tall and towered over them… They gazed at him… And for fear of him they did shake, and became as dead men, and whispered not a word… ..His eyes burned them like firey ice, piercing into their very being… And as his flesh began to slough away in wet ribbons, and his muscles glistened and trembled on his bones, they ran from him in madness and holy terror, and some fell to their knees and kissed his bloody feet…

….And his flesh was shed like the husk of a chrysalis; shed like the scales of a snake devouring its own tail; shed in death and resurrection… And, all about him mothwings beat the air with luminous light and his bones fell away and his body crumbled into the dust… ashes to ashes…

… And, he rose up, up, in the moth’s dusty flight and fled towards the light, towards the dawn of a new day, towards eternal life… And his children wept…

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…about these images…

This series is part of a works-in-progess inspired by The man of sorrows. These images were created through experiemental photography and hands-on techinques, rather than graphic manipulation through the computer. Each Image uses various techniques including distressing of the negatives and prints, multiple printing, montaging, collaging, ripping, bleaching, sewing, layering and reworking the surfaces with various medium (paint, inks, acrylic gels), then re-photographing the finished composition with colour slide film…