Beauchamp Art

B.S. Beauchamp (Fine Art BA Hons) Critical and Creative Practice

Writing: Mooring Gory

Ben way curl supper,
Herod’s fade spoke,
Random leaving rout the tales,
Float some were heard pasted yes turn day,
Its lame has break fall,
Some holding get some new store,
His flick her ring eyes,
Face sits screening bland clean,
Borrow doubt he’s minding he sewn busy mess,
Core trump history a pass sinking thaw turn income pleated a tie me doubt,
Dizzy her abide imperfect sunday of respite?
War tiff razor hell please cauterise sand for hollow.
For cooked rift lichen under scanned.
Ben welch youth could.
Sewed this Mooring Gory,
Could hymn self-open.

Writing: Motherland of Exiles: Tempus Recta

Extract from the work in progress project, Motherland of Exiles.

Those that remember the history which was, prior to the Event, the only history that could have been, were those that, despite all probability, would have lived in both that, and this current version of events, and from whom it was possible to gather much of what is known about that civilisation through the looking glass. They bare the memory of that world, and alongside a few artefacts and record materials, a reasonably thorough archive had been established. Nevertheless, some finer points are still much contested, as are the many ‘what ifs’ posed as to the nature of a converse presence, particularly with regards to the nature of causality, and whether the Dawn of this age was inevitable. If so, then the rewriting of history had to occur for mankind to progress on the axis of time to this place in the universe – a most peculiar, and potentially paradoxical, problem to resolve. Yet, to exist as humanity does in it’d Flatland, it’s perspective of trajectory along dimensions imperceptible are difficult at best, impossible in all likelihood.

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Digital: Vermilingua Decimari

Vermilingua Decimari - 01

Vermilingua Decimari

What on God’s scorched Earth are you, he that resides beneath it? A Daemon of a man whose footsteps once were proud upon green ground, now a dweller of the depths, a subterranean, homesick mammalian. Worm-tongue, yet unspeaking, so far from humanity he has become that words now escape him, language is a foreign concept with no place in his decimated heart.

Oh what, in Hell, have you become?

You poor, chthonic soul, what hath God wrought?

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Photos: Skinhead

Skinhead - 02


Sha ven head sca pin leat her jack het

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Photos: Tina Hannay – BA Degree Show

Tina Hannay - BA Degree Show - 09

Tina Hannay – BA Degree Show

Documentation of Tina Hannay artwork as part of the NUA BA Degree Show.

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Photos: Lauren Phillips – BA Degree Show

Lauren Phillips - BA Degree Show - 04

Lauren Phillips – BA Degree Show

Documentation of the work of Lauren Phillips, as part of the Illustration BA Degree Show, 2017

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Writing: Disparition

I’m turning left,
Indicating right,
And walking up the walls.

Cross over board the bus,
Get to gripping the sat at the back,
Raised on engineering.

I’ve seen how this is made,
Cut out metal and painted glossy,
Where I first experienced labour. Read the rest of this entry »

Digital: Creatrix Decimari

Creatrix Decimari - 01

Creatrix Decimari

The mother, the daughter, the sister.

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Digital: Praeteritus Decimari

Praeteritus Decimari - 01

Praeteritus Decimari

Decimari, not far from humanity.

(Made by altering a previous model of my own head.)

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