Haute Martyre

Each pixel is a tear on my eye as every second shares eternity.

In the rational synthesis of estimation. All is of none.

We image what we are. When this image is lost. Your art lives on.

As of whom we talk. The vision betrayed me. To adore life.

Entirely significant.

Love is an illusion.

Lust bites.
Reality Bytes.®

Of dailies A



“Shapes of the daemon” -2015







“Streak of wild” – Matieu








“The pious cat” – Matieu







“Egyptian cat” -Matieu








“Of cat” -Matieu









“The wicked” – Matieu







“Motiffe” – Matieu








“Time” –  Matieu




“Simp” – Matieu





“Psi” 15.06.2015 – Matieu







“Xao” 17.06.2015 – Matieu





“Whiff” 18.06.2015 – Matieu






“Miniature” 18.06.2015 – Matieu






“Hacked” 19.06.2015 – Matieu







“Muse” 19.06.2015 – Matieu







“Visioneer” 26.06.2015






“The friend in me” – Matieu 2015






suggestion“Fine” – Matieu 2015







“Snunk” – Matieu 2015

Streaks maybe

Feline visions


29.05.2015 – Matieu






Look away from any logical links between the pieces of art.



snaketoad“Snake head”

30.05.2015 – Matieu





realitycheck“Reality check”

30.05.2015 – Matieu






“The veritable shapes”

02.06.2015 – Matieu





surrealman“Surreal dude”

02.06.2015 – Matieu






02.06.2015 – Matieu





bidiboy“Veritable deceit”

02.06.2015 – Matieu






“The artist sorrow”

02.06.2015 – Matieu





“Flame of doom the game”

02.06.2015 – Matieu

This is the female version of my doom pink monster.



bianca“Another pink monster head”

02.06.2015 – Matieu




Evidently the femme fatale should be introduced to shoot-em up 3d games. The photo of someone could also have a place. Perhaps not for the weak of mind. Cyberspace rules! PRYCE!

For you whom expected a figurine now. The 3d room may be welcoming.


02.06.2015 – Matieu





Not yet!?

Maybe when there is a fly on your screen!


“Conteurs invisible”


I talked about reentering the conteur into my abstractions. This is a change in my art.



The illusion per se a perfection of realism. What changes within time? The choice of command? Our cat is the photopen used for this image with the purpose of graphicly creating my dear father.

The essentialist…

introvert bravemonkeytwo mythicman nekro nobility searcePrior to your opinions on my art must be foretold. The essentialist venture in art. It is perhaps easy to distinguish technique from waste of time. The essentialist proposes an ideal in art which is to make something indistinguishable.

The fame of such guise I nearly wan’t to proclaim immortality!

Next venture in pride. The supposition a fervent dream.

To oppose the rational tendency of joy in adoration.

Diary of Dreams


The appeased sentimental journey it is to dream. Widely awoke early tidbit. The relief of light and shadow. Lucid tennancies. To depict what perceived. Factually captured dreams. A fathom of what cannot be touched.


Awake. Chased by shadows. Confusion. The prosperous time. The non surrealistic dream. Focused. Dreamless.



Feigned Reasons.

Affirmed the preessentialist movement. Standing against a crowd. The mildly placed elegancy in time of such a dire informality a cat wouldn’t estrange it’s bait. The vindicate mother lease. I rarely frequent such areas. This time they really did wan’t an appraisal. In manner of speech I managed to keep them down by following deemed souls to their graves. The prosperous new dawn. Affirmed riots. No reason to abandon sanity. As honesty prevails the instant time of which lies flower. The custom of advice seemed appologetic of nature. Now this all took place in the land of the sun. I ventured there and saw a second sun. The darker. In clear-voyant stairs the pictoresque ability to assume evidence seemed prosperous an ability. Very much like admiration. Fictively speaking of course the dream of these stairs. Vile and monstrous, without anything such as a tint of mistake. The polite distant perfecy de facto. To commemorate the improper casual sinister smile of lost lives. In my place known as hell. For a while there I was confused with the enemy. To my ancestors I would like to describe the horror and preventual gleems of these trips to hell. Very much of known. The traditional liot found scarce. A scarecrow in his late teens parloring gates to limit the fortunate ones. This time I saw my cathegorical denial scheme showed to the audience as of a priority to ammuse the mass with someone less fortunate. I discovered my road layed in poverty. For I whom once had known wealth. Servants washing my hands. Swift dazzling mansions. With the appology of fame for a reasonably protectionate in vane shoe shiner somewhere. The fiction of thought refrains to permanent denial. I dreamt once again of distance and the nature of fools. In a portrait of a favour to the devil himself the vindicate mother seemed a liot compared to her flame. The disdained informal ventures of arrousal. I could not process the memory of clouds. In favourable pity the framed fame that followed. The centennial joy. The skies over the beach and the furious thunder. The limit of tendencial waters. A proverbs atonement. The incites of command. Que jeune que vivrè. The passion of fervent lore. The infamous surreal lights from the inside of pubs. Late night glory and misfortune dancing into destiny. The audience can not see the play. Into the sustainably lowered voice of this clown. The insolent betrayer of paradise. The visions dear. I know to hold verity in my hands. To obey this freedom come late of knowledge without judgement. Fashion. Tieing my shoes. He is an early riser. Forgiven not of freedom thus what is late. The intentions are polite though the infamy is of shame. Shame of vanity.

"all is timeless of the none"