Interview for "TV Brussel"
(Pencil Vs Camera!)
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(with subtitles in Dutch)
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It was a lot of fun. Quite a little challenge, because I made this "Pencil Vs Camera" image in a few minutes only (I usually spend more time on my drawings). I was interviewed by Tomas Teetaert for "TV Brussel". The report happened at the "Gallery Garden" and was broadcasted on "TV Brussel" the 18th of February 2011. Many thanks to Anne, Guy and Tomas!

(See the whole album)

© 2011 - Ben Heine

Pencil Vs Camera 1, 2, 3
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This is sort of experimental. I'll be posting more
crazy creations in this style in the coming days/weeks.

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Reality and Unreality

By Peter S. Quinn

Reality and unreality
It made me laugh
To be or not to be
Are the times epigraph

Everything you might see
Could be a sketch rough
Comprehending its duality
Is the world a bluff?

Endurance in durability
Wishes of arty autograph
On to each its infinity
Draw and photo half to half

© 2010 - Ben Heine

Half Human - Half Animal

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This is just the (unfinished) preparatory
sketch, the final painting is coming soon.

© 2010 - Ben Heine

More than Flesh

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© 2008 - Ben Heine
.
Alone With
Everybody
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By Charles Bukowski
.
the flesh covers the bone
and they put a mind
in there and
sometimes a soul,
and the women break
vases against the walls
and the men drink too
much
and nobody finds the
one
but keep
looking
crawling in and out
of beds.
flesh covers
the bone and the
flesh searches
for more than
flesh.

there's no chance
at all:
we are all trapped
by a singular
fate.

nobody ever finds
the one.

the city dumps fill
the junkyards fill
the madhouses fill
the hospitals fill
the graveyards fill

nothing else
fills.

(Poem's source : Bukowski.org)

Waiting For
My Rebirth
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© 2008 - Ben Heine

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Waiting
.
By Robert Frost

What things for dream there are when specter-like,
Moving amond tall haycocks lightly piled,
I enter alone upon the stubbled filed,
From which the laborers' voices late have died,
And in the antiphony of afterglow
And rising full moon, sit me down
Upon the full moon's side of the first haycock
And lose myself amid so many alike.

I dream upon the opposing lights of the hour,
Preventing shadow until the moon prevail;
I dream upon the nighthawks peopling heaven,
Or plunging headlong with fierce twang afar;
And on the bat's mute antics, who would seem
Dimly to have made out my secret place,
Only to lose it when he pirouettes,
On the last swallow's sweep; and on the rasp
In the abyss of odor and rustle at my back,
That, silenced by my advent, finds once more,
After an interval, his instrument,
And tries once--twice--and thrice if I be there;
And on the worn book of old-golden song
I brought not here to read, it seems, but hold
And freshen in this air of withering sweetness;
But on the memor of one absent, most,
For whom these lines when they shall greet her eye.

(The poem appeared on americanpoems.com)

PS : This is a watercolour study (life drawing)
made at the Académie Royale des
Beaux Arts de Bruxelles.

My Mother's
Womb
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© 2008 - Ben Heine

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Before I Knocked
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By Dylan Thomas (*)

Before I knocked and flesh let enter,
With liquid hands tapped on the womb,
I who was as shapeless as the water
That shaped the Jordan near my home
Was brother to Mnetha's daughter
And sister to the fathering worm.

I who was deaf to spring and summer,
Who knew not sun nor moon by name,
Felt thud beneath my flesh's armour,
As yet was in a molten form
The leaden stars, the rainy hammer
Swung by my father from his dome.

I knew the message of the winter,
The darted hail, the childish snow,
And the wind was my sister suitor;
Wind in me leaped, the hellborn dew;
My veins flowed with the Eastern weather;
Ungotten I knew night and day.

As yet ungotten, I did suffer;
The rack of dreams my lily bones
Did twist into a living cipher,
And flesh was snipped to cross the lines
Of gallow crosses on the liver
And brambles in the wringing brains.

My throat knew thirst before the structure
Of skin and vein around the well
Where words and water make a mixture
Unfailing till the blood runs foul;
My heart knew love, my belly hunger;
I smelt the maggot in my stool.

And time cast forth my mortal creature
To drift or drown upon the seas
Acquainted with the salt adventure
Of tides that never touch the shores.
I who was rich was made the richer
By sipping at the vine of days.

I, born of flesh and ghost, was neither
A ghost nor man, but mortal ghost.
And I was struck down by death's feather.
I was a mortal to the last
Long breath that carried to my father
The message of his dying christ.

You who bow down at cross and altar,
Remember me and pity Him
Who took my flesh and bone for armour
And doublecrossed my mother's womb.

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(*) Dylan Marlais Thomas (1914 - 1953) was a Welsh poet. He is regarded by many as one of the 20th century's most influential poets. In addition to poetry, Thomas also wrote short stories and scripts for film and radio, with the latter frequently performed by Thomas himself. His public readings, particularly in America, won him great acclaim; his booming, at times ostentatious, voice with a subtle Welsh lilt, became almost as famous as his works. Read more.

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--> The poem appeared on bryantmcgill.com

PS : This is a watercolour study (life drawing) made at the Académie Royale des Beaux Arts de Bruxelles.