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Third I.I.F.A Exhibition
Aitox
South Africa
Hewn from the bleak rocks of Mhaldor's mountain, this circular platform is perfectly level and covered in neatly raked ripples of pale limestone gravel. Hovering in the sky like a second sun is a spellbinding globe of elemental white-fire. It radiates spectacular beams of light that serves to ignite the surrounding terrain in supernal brilliance. Beneath the magical light source are seven antique oval mirrors, their reflective surfaces facing the interior of the circular formation they are positioned in. These mirrors, in beautiful symbiosis with the globe of white-fire, cast a spectacular matrix of light that criss-crosses above the ground. The resulting shape forms a horizontal septagram which wavers as the lambency bounces between the seven surfaces. The light is of such glorious intensity that it is almost impossible to see the hidden writing on the frame of each mirror. Meticulously smeared in dried blood on each frame is one of the Seven Sins. A simple path of circular, obsidian stepping stones weaves slightly through the sentry of mirrors. To the south it connects with a beautiful glass pavilion, which has been brightened by residual light beams. To the north it leads right up to a humble entrance way leading directly into the heart of the mountain.
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To Persevere.
Every inch of this room is covered in the purest ivory-white limestone. Each slab has been so masterfully cut and laid that the cracks between them are only visible upon closer inspection. A glow globe fills the room with clear, crisp daylight. An astonishing conception occupies the majority of this circular room. Rising from the very bowls of the earth is a massive, transparent chalcedony arm. It ascends majestically skywards, the hand of the arm fusing with the ceiling of the locale to become one with the burden it has to bear. A narrow walkway around the arm has been occupied with various hindering objects, making manoeuvring to the room above a challenge. The artist took painstakingly long to carve the finest detail into the exhibit, the curving musculature and sinew breathing life into the earthen texture. At certain places bright red jasper shines through the transparent chalcedony, drawing a parallel to the veins of the living. Bracelets of Evil maxims encircle the entirety of the gleaming surface: "The Truths Are Your Answer To Strength And Power", "Persevere And Ascend Beyond Your Own Limitations", "Suffering and
Oppression Leads To A Higher State Of Living", daring the viewer to navigate the treacherous pathway around the forearm again, and again, and again, to digest the enlightened verbatim in its totality.
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In Evil I Shall Trust.
Every inch of this cube-shaped room is covered in the purest, ivory-white limestone. Each slab has been so masterfully cut and laid that the cracks between them are only visible upon closer inspection. A muted pentagram of sanguine fire silently crackles against the ceiling, beaming down a pillar of luminescence on the focal piece. For occupying the room's exact centre is the kneeling statue of a tiny, undistinguished girl. Her legs are tugged underneath her, hands folded in her lap as she casts a resolute gaze towards the daemonic inspired heaven. The statue in itself shows no remarkable detail; no defined lines or textures except for the eyes. The narrowed eyes have been afforded meticulous attention by the artist, lacing the stony orbs with emotions of fierce determination, danger, and anger. Surrounding the girl in a protective circle are the empty, propped fullplates of seven Infernal Knights that gaze outwards, the coat of arms of Mhaldor proudly etched into the breast plates. Each Infernal Knight boldly holds within its grasp a letter forged from bloodsteel: 'S' in the first, 'T' in the second, 'R' in the third, 'E', 'N', 'G', 'T', 'H', in the fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh respectively. Scattered haphazardly at the feet of each of the seven Infernal Knights are the disjointed fullplates of Paladins, the words 'Righteousness' mockingly scrawled in yellow graffiti across the breast plates, bemiring the pristine beauty that once resided in the iron.
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The End.
Every inch of this room has been painted an abyssal black, the uniformity of the colour distorting the
architectural boundaries of the enclosed space. A tiny globe of light hangs in mid-air, providing just enough glow for the simple painting on the Northern wall to be highlighted. The painting depicts a niveous-skinned female human sitting at a lavishly decorated table of dark oak, various golden ornaments and dusty tomes scattered about her. The woman leans upon the table with her left arm, the Mark of the Twin 'II' counterpointed by appropriate use of crimson paint. Her chin rests nonchalantly in her left hand as she gazes downwards with bored chocolate eyes, whilst her right hand casually brings a glass of absinthe to her yawning maw. Forming an archway above the female depiction are the words in dove-grey, "So when does it End, huh?". Occupying the centre of the room is a charcoaled spear that smoulders weakly, the bright flame that ignited it long gone. Throughout the locale the sibilant mocking of succubi whispers repeatedly, "pointless", "pointlessss", "sooo pointlessss".
-Continuing
Comments
Hypocrisy
Every inch of this cube-shaped room is covered in the purest, ivory-white limestone. Each slab has been so masterfully cut and laid that the cracks between them are only visible upon closer inspection. A glow globe fills the room with clear, crisp daylight. Stretched taut and fixed to two vertical poles of obsidian is an exquisite piece of white, transparent silk. Across its surface spreads a vibrant, ink painting of a golden-robed priest of Lady Mithraea. Looking up expectantly into the eyes of the priest is a young girl, her smile a tentative mixture of hope and anxiety as she tugs at the priests' robes. Behind the silk canvas positioned where the heart of the priest would be is a miniature sculpture of a black obsidian heart. The organ itself rests ominously on a white granite podium, dripping black ooze from its interior that defiles everything around it. The ethereal texture of the silk provides an undistorted view of the juxtaposition of the black interior and colourful exterior.
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Nature.
Every inch of this cube-shaped room is covered in the purest ivory white limestone. Each slab has been so masterfully cut and laid that the cracks between them are only visible upon the closest of inspections. A brilliantly bright glow globe fills the room with clear, crisp daylight. The very centre of the floor has been splattered with a crusty pile of bovine excrement. It stinks.
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Evolution.
Every inch of this cube-shaped room is covered in the purest, ivory-white limestone. Each slab has been so masterfully cut and laid that the cracks between them are only visible upon close inspection. A glow globe fills the room with clear, crisp daylight. Three dissimilar statues occupy the centre of this expansive area. The obsidian statues themselves portray a progressive state of beauty and strength, each sequentially showcasing more detail, more character, and more substance than its predecessor. The first of the statues is a singular dismembered torso haphazardly lying on the floor. Like a long lost ruin of old, it is paved with imperfect scars and cracks across the careworn chest and rotund stomach. Discarded around the hapless torso are torn limbs, bent at cruel, uncomfortable angles. The severed hands lie palm open, contorted fingers forsaken to beg for the tiniest bit of reprieve, whilst the decapitated head with its mouth agape in a mournful scream, stares listlessly at passers-by with defunct eyes. The second statue is remarkably different than the first. A larger torso unmasks the first signs
of strength and pride; it is carried by legs that are bent, knees resting on the ground in genuflection. Scratches and nicks still mar the surface, but they are essentially superficial and do not detract from the enduring appearance of the statue. A sole arm attached to the right side of the torso hankers to the heavens, fingers beckoning to the end goal. The other arm lies to the left of the torso, a solitary figure of weakness. The third and largest of the statues is a truly breath-taking sight to behold, a paragon in its own right. Muscled extremities are made lifelike by the resplendent sheen of the polished black obsidian, light rippling across the surface to animate that which is dead. Magnificent legs are straight and poised, carrying the massive weight of a chiselled torso; the surface infallible in its earthen integrity. The visage of the statue displays fearless, confident features, a visual testimony to an inner strength. Cold, stern eyes speak of acquired power as they stare meaningfully ahead. The right arm is memorialised across the chest, fist clenched in approbation to the Strength giver. The focal point of the statue is the left arm: where it was antecedently the sole remnant of weakness, it is now the pinnacle of strength; it points to the heavens, a single outstretched index finger being the apex. On the very tip of this index finger rests a single, exquisitely carved Ivory Locust, its wings flared as if in flight.
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END
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