CREST - THE MARKETPLACE

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A screaming comes across the sky. It has happened before, but there is nothing to compare it to now. It is too late. The Evacuation still proceeds, but it’s all theatre. There are no lights inside the cars. No light any' where. Above him lift girders old as an iron queen, and — glass somewhere far above that would let the light of day through. But it’s night. He’s afraid of the way the glass will fall—soon—it will be a spectacle: the fall of a crystal palace. But coming down in total blackout, without one glint of light, only great invisible crashing. Inside the carriage, which is built on several levels, he sits in velveteen darkness, with nothing to smoke, feeling metal nearer and farther rub and connect, steam escaping in puffs, a vibration in the carriage’s frame, a poising, an uneasiness, all the others pressed in around, feeble ones, second sheep, all out of luck and time: drunks, old. veterans still in shock from ordnance 20 years obsolete, hustlers in city clothes, derelicts, exhausted women with more children than it seems could belong to anyone, stacked about among the rest of the things to be carried out to Salvation, Only the nearer faces are visible to all, and at that only as half-silvered images in a view finder, green-Stained VIP faces remembered behind bulletproof windows speeding through the city... They have begun to move. They pass in line, out of the main station, out of downtown, and. begin .pushing into older and more desolate parts of the city. Is this the way out? Faces turn to the windows, but no one dares ask, not out loud. Rain comes down. No, this is not a disentanglement from, but a progressive knotting into—they go in under archways, secret entrances of rotted concrete that only looked like loops of an underpass... certain trestles of blackened wood have moved slowly by overhead, and the smells begun of coal from days far to the past, smells _ of naphtha winters, of Sundays when no traffic came through, of the coral-like and mysteriously vital growth, around the blind curves and out the lonely spurs, a sour smell of rolling-stock absence, of maturing rust, developing through those emptying days brilliant and deep, especially at dawn, with blue shadows to seal its passage, to try to bring events to Absolute Zero... and it is poorer the deeper they go...ruinous secret cities of poor, places whose names he has never heard . . . the walls break down, the roofs get fewer and so do the chances for light. The road, which ought to be opening out into a broader highway, instead has been getting narrower, more broken, comering tighter and tighter until all at once, much too soon, they are under the final arch: brakes grab and spring terribly. It is a judgment from which there is no appeal. The caravan has halted, It is the end of the line. All the evacuees are ordered out. They move slowly, but without resistance. Those marshaling them wear cockades the color of lead, and do not speak. It is some vast, very old and dark hotel, an iron extension of the track and switchery by which they have come here. ... Globular lights, painted a dark green, hang from under the fancy iron eaves, unlit for centuries ... the crowd moves without murmurs or coughing down corridors straight and functional as warehouse aisles ... velvet black surfaces contain the movement: the smell is of old wood, of remote wings empty all this time just reopened to accommodate the rush of souls, of cold plaster where all the rats have died, only their ghosts, still as cave-painting, fixed stubborn and luminous in the walls... the evacuees are taken in lots, by elevator—a moving wood scaffold open on all sides, hoisted by old tarry ropes and cast-iron pulleys whose spokes are shaped like Ss. At each brown floor, passengers move on and off ... thousands of these hushed rooms without light. ...Some wait alone, some share their invisible rooms with others. Invisible, yes, what do the furnishings matter, at this stage of things? Underfoot crunches the oldest of city dirt, last crystallizations of all the city had denied, threatened, lied to its children. Each has been hearing a voice, one he thought was talking only to him, say, “You didn’t really believe you’d be saved. Come, we all know who we are by now. No one was ever going to take the trouble to save you, old fellow... .” There is no way out. Lie and wait, lie still and be quiet. Screaming holds across the sky. When it comes, will it come in darkness, or will it bring its own light? Will the light come before or after? But it is already light. How long has it been light? All _ this while, light has come percolating in, along with the cold morning air flowing now across his nipples: it has begun to reveal an assortment of drunken wastrels, some in uniform and some not, clutching empty or near-empty bottles, here draped over a chair, there huddled into a cold fireplace, or sprawled on various divans, un-Hoovered _ rugs and chaise longues down the different levels of the - enormous room, snoring and wheezing at many rhythms, in self-renewing chorus, as London light, winter and elastic light, grows between the faces of the mullioned windows, grows among the strata of last night’s smoke still hung, fading, from the waxed beams of the ceiling. All these ~ horizontal here, these comrades in arms, look just as rosy ~ as a bunch of Dutch peasants dreaming of their certain _ resurrection in the next few minutes.
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Artwork Prints:

Description Details

We have poster-paper prints of my artwork available to purchase! These are high-quality posters that were scanned, color-corrected, and printed by the company Ink to Media.

They did a good job. All posters are 1:1 scale, true to the size of the original art. All posters sold are signed by Crest.

The paintings currently available in print-form are:

  • north
  • moth spiral
  • impressions of saturn
  • empty and overcrowded

If you would like a poster of a painting not listed here, send me an e-mail about it, and I may be able to materialize your request upon my next visit to the printing company.

*The "Large" size for prints applies only to empty and overcrowded as the original painting was done on a larger canvas.

Size: Medium: 12 in x 12 in; Large: 16 in x 20 in

(+ 1 inch white border)

Material: Pura Smooth 300 fine art paper




Current Price: $30.00 Medium; $35 Large

Purchasing an original painting:

Details

My paintings are the only children I have, which is to say that I am very protective of every one!

If you are interested in purchasing a Crest Original there is only one path: You must prostrate yourself before my e-mail and state your case as to why you should take custody of this particular piece, or just what amount you would pay for it. You must face my judgment directly. It's the only way.

Shipping Information:

Details

All orders within the US are shipped via USPS - Ground Advantage. There is a $5 shipping fee when ordering through eBay, plus additional sales taxes.

International shipping is available! But it comes with a significant fee, the severity of which depends upon your particular address. If you would like to place an international order or simply inquire about the cost of shipping to your territory, send me an e-mail describing what item you want and what country/region you want it to go to. I will respond with a price quote as soon as I can. International orders are charged via PayPal. If PayPal is inaccessible to you for whatever reason, or if you have any other questions, feel free to e-mail me about it.

Ordering within the US but want to avoid eBay's fees? Send me an e-mail specifying what you would like to order, then submit a flat $30/$35 payment to my PayPal, and then I will ship your order for a slightly reduced cost! This is called the Secret Method and it exists for reasons beyond your current comprehension.
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