of Unspoken Index
Hieronymus Bosch, Zahrada pozemských rozkoší (1490–1510)
Where does this black sun come from? Out of what eerie galaxy do its invisible, lethargic rays reach me, pinning me down to the ground, to my bed, forced to silence, to renunciation?
All extremes of feeling
are allied with madness.
The Beast is present. The beauty is lost. Puffy eyes. Empty gaze. It’s quiet, yet so loud.
Hans Holbein ml., Mrtvý Kristus v hrobce (1521–1522)