Art Studio Elbe - Verband freischaffender Künstler.

Author - Brian Hawkeswood.                                                                            Nach unten scrollen für die deutsche Übersetzung. Along the coast at Kovalam (India), fishing is not an industry so much as a rhythm—an inherited cadence that has outlasted empires, religions, and the modern impatience with anything that does not scale. Each morning, the boats return not as symbols of labour but as punctuation marks in a sentence that has been written and rewritten for centuries. The sea gives, the shore receives, and life adjusts itself—quietly, persistently—to the terms of that exchange. As the early morning passes boats steadily arrive reveiling their nights catch. People wait and buy straight from the fishermen. Kovalam January 2026. The abundance of fish in these waters has lo...

Author - Brian Hawkeswood                                                                 Nach unten scrollen für die deutsche Übersetzung                                                                          മലയാളം പതിപ്പ് വായിക്കാൻ താഴേക്ക് സ്ക്രോൾ ചെയ്യുക പ്രാദേശിക ചിത്രകാരന്മാരെക്കുറിച്ച്, ദൂരദേശങ്ങളെയും, പരിമിത കലയുടെ മൗന സഹോദരത്വത്തെയും കുറിച്ച് For a long time I delayed writing publicly about the painters I encountered in Pirna. Not because the subject lacked urgency, but because I feared the absence of adequate examples would flatten what I wished to say into something abstract, even accusatory. Art, after all, is never best understood...

  Author - Brian Hawkeswood                                                       Nach unten scrollen für die deutsche Übersetzung Outside the Kovalam Avaduthura Sree Parkulum Shiva Temple, I paused at the threshold… “What is that?” I asked an Indian man walking towards me. “A temple,” he replied, without slowing. “No — I mean that,” I said, pointing to the creature rearing beside the entrance, its mouth frozen open in a permanent cry, its body twisted into something at once animal, heraldic, and theatrical. “It’s a horse,” he said, now smiling, and walked on. Of course it was a horse — though not a horse as Europe would have known one, nor as nature ever shaped it. This was a horse refashioned by belief, by centuries of repetition, by the necessity that gods require guardians, and that guardians must look capable of terror. Its anatomy had be...