Abstract Art

by Bill Tiepelman

The Butterfly Collector - Fragments of Forgotten Childhood

The Butterfly Collector Darla had always been a little... strange. The kind of strange that made her neighbors double-check their locks at night and whisper rumors about her creepy collection of antique dolls. But Darla didn’t mind. In fact, she relished in it. She had always been an odd duck, a proud owner of a taxidermied crow named Reginald and a wall of old doll heads with hollowed-out eyes that seemed to follow visitors around her house. One evening, as the light outside faded into a purplish dusk, Darla stood before her mirror, admiring her latest acquisition—a doll she’d found at a flea market, weathered by time and more than a little unsettling. Its eyes were mismatched—one blue and the other black as night. "You'll fit in just fine," Darla muttered, placing the doll on the shelf, giving it a prime spot among the others. That night, she went to bed, thinking about nothing in particular. Maybe what brand of peanut butter was superior, or why her neighbor still hadn’t returned her lawnmower. Just mundane things. But as she slipped into sleep, a faint scratching noise stirred her from the edge of a dream. “Probably Reginald falling off the mantel again,” she grumbled, pulling her blanket tighter. But the scratching continued. Louder this time. Darla sat up in bed, glancing at her door. It was slightly ajar, though she was certain she had closed it before sleeping. Then came the whisper. Faint, like a child's voice caught in the wind: "Remember me?" Darla froze. She blinked, rubbed her eyes, thinking she was still half-dreaming. But when she looked at the mirror across the room, she saw the doll—the one with the mismatched eyes—was no longer on its shelf. It was sitting on her dresser, one cracked wing slowly unfurling, revealing pale faces peeking through the tattered fabric. “Now… that’s new,” she muttered to herself, trying to stifle her panic. The doll—now somehow a moth—fluttered its damaged wings, each beat kicking up the dust of forgotten years. Faces pushed out from the wings’ surface—children's faces. Their tiny porcelain mouths opened as if gasping for air. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Darla said, rubbing her temples. “Moths. Of course. Why not? Let’s just add moth dolls to my list of issues tonight.” The thing fluttered toward her, the crackling sound of its brittle wings filling the room. It perched at the end of her bed, staring with its mismatched eyes—one wide and innocent, the other dark and sunken, like a tiny, doll-sized abyss. Darla sighed, rolling her eyes. “So, what, you’re here to haunt me? You’re a moth and a doll—kinda lame, don’t you think?” she quipped, reaching for the glass of water beside her bed. “Look, I’m not afraid of some freaky doll that looks like it moonlights in a bad horror movie. Just spit it out already. What do you want?” The doll’s wings twitched, and its little bow-tied body shifted as if preparing to speak. Its tiny lips moved, but no sound came out. Just the same whisper: "Remember me?" Darla squinted, leaning in. “Seriously, I don’t. Did I skip you at the flea market or something?” The moth-doll let out an exasperated little sigh—a sigh!—as if Darla wasn’t taking this haunting nearly as seriously as it wanted. One of the faces in its wing—a particularly creepy one with wide, staring eyes—whispered again, more clearly this time: "You forgot us... but we didn’t forget you." Darla blinked. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me. This isn’t about that doll tea party incident from 1989, is it?” The moth fluttered its wings menacingly—or at least, it tried. Really, it just looked like it was having a mild seizure. Darla stifled a snicker. “You’re telling me this whole spooky act is because I abandoned a tea party? You guys need therapy. I was, what, six? My bad for moving on with my life. You should’ve seen it coming when I discovered Pokémon.” But the moth-doll wasn’t amused. It launched itself at her, tiny porcelain hands gripping her blanket as it flapped its decayed wings in frustration. One of the wings tore slightly, and a button fell off with a tiny plink. “Oh no, not the button. How ever will I survive?” Darla deadpanned, lifting the moth-doll by its scrappy little body. She set it gently on her dresser. “Listen, I’ll get you some super glue in the morning. Maybe a few stitches. But you’ve gotta stop with the ‘vengeful ghost of my childhood’ routine. It’s a bit much, even for me.” The moth-doll sat there, wings sagging, as if contemplating its entire existence. Perhaps it realized it had severely miscalculated its haunting strategy. Perhaps it understood that Darla—of all people—was not the best choice for a victim. “Good talk,” Darla said, fluffing her pillow and settling back into bed. “Now go sulk somewhere else. I have work in the morning.” The moth-doll gave one last pitiful flap of its wings before retreating back to its shelf, where it sat quietly among the other forgotten dolls. As Darla drifted back to sleep, she could’ve sworn she heard Reginald the taxidermied crow let out a cackle. Maybe he was just as amused by the situation as she was.

by Bill Tiepelman

Jeweled Protectors of the Celestial Balance

In the realm where the fabric of the universe weaves itself into the tapestry of reality, there existed a sanctuary untouched by time and chaos. This sanctuary, known as the Aetherius Vale, was guarded by two ethereal dragons, whose scales shimmered with the verdant hues of the oldest forests and wings adorned with gemstones that mirrored the cosmos. They were the Seraphim Guardians, Arion and Aria, whose presence maintained the balance between the worlds of fantasy and the tangible. Arion, with eyes as deep and blue as the ocean's abyss, held the wisdom of the waters. He could hear the whispers of the streams and the roars of the waterfalls within every gemstone embedded in his mighty wings. Aria, her gaze alight with the clarity of the sky, sang the song of the winds. The jewels adorning her form twinkled in harmony with her voice, a melody that carried the fragrance of the most secluded meadows and the warmth of the dawning sun. It was said that the Vale was the heart of all creativity, a source from which flowed the rivers of imagination that fed the world. Artists, dreamers, and creators would pilgrimage to the edge of the Vale, hoping to catch even a glimpse of Arion and Aria, for it was believed a single moment in their presence could inspire a masterpiece that would echo through the ages. One such dreamer was Lysandra, a weaver of tales whose words had yet to find the breath of life. Under the canvas of twilight, she ventured close to the Vale, her heart holding onto a flickering hope. What she sought was the legendary inspiration of Arion and Aria, a gift that would allow her stories to dance off the pages and into the hearts of those who heard them. As the twin moons climbed the tapestry of the night sky, their silver light illuminated the Vale's boundary. There, Lysandra beheld Arion and Aria, their eyes meeting hers across the divide between worlds. In that instant, the vale hummed with a transcendent energy, and a profound connection bridged the gap between the seeker and the guardians. With a harmonious blend of their distinct melodies, the dragons bestowed upon Lysandra the essence of true creation. Words unspoken flowed into Lysandra's mind like a gentle stream, each one a shimmering note that joined to form tales of wonder. She saw visions of distant lands, of loves won and lost, of battles between light and shadow—all spun from the threads of the guardians' songs. Her hand moved as if guided by an ancient rhythm, her quill a conduit for the narrative that was as old as the stars yet as new as the dawn. The Seraphim Guardians watched as Lysandra's essence intertwined with the magic they had shared, her spirit aglow with newfound purpose. They knew her stories would carry the essence of the Vale, a beacon for those who felt the stirrings of creation within their souls. With a final, resonant note that echoed through the heavens, Arion and Aria released Lysandra from the embrace of their gaze, her path forever altered by their gift. Lysandra returned to the world, her every step lighter, her heart brimming with tales that yearned to be told. And as she shared them, the listeners found themselves transported to the Aetherius Vale, if only for a moment, their lives enriched by the magic of a dreamer's words, a testament to the eternal guardians who watched over the delicate balance of all things creative and beautiful.     Lysandra's journey through the Aetherius Vale with Arion and Aria did not just fill the pages of her books; it inspired a collection of tangible wonders, each a piece of the sanctuary’s magic brought to life. Her tales wove themselves into the threads of reality, creating artifacts that carry the essence of inspiration. Discover the Diamond Art Pattern, where each facet reflects a stroke of Arion and Aria’s grandeur. Grace your desk with the Mouse Pad, a constant reminder of the balance between creativity and practicality. Adorn your walls with the enchanting Poster, a portal to the Vale's boundless inspiration. For a touch of the Vale's comfort in your sanctuary, the Throw Pillow awaits, and for a challenge that mirrors the complexity of Lysandra's journey, piece together the story with the Puzzle. Each product is an invitation to hold a fragment of a dream, a splinter of the ethereal guardians' realm.

by Bill Tiepelman

Ethereal Watchers: Whispers of the Wind

In the realm where the firmament kisses the horizon, the Ethereal Watchers preside, their presence as enigmatic as the origins of the universe. A silent covenant existed between the realms of earth and the boundless skies — a pact sealed by the Watchers’ vigilant eyes. Legends spoke of their wisdom, tales woven into the fabric of time, carried forth by the whispering zephyrs. Each dawn, the Watchers would unfurl their grand wings, casting a kaleidoscope of colors upon the waking world. Beneath their gaze, the earth heaved a sigh of contentment, knowing the guardians were ever-present. On this particular morn, the Watchers observed a peculiar stillness — a pause that draped the world in an expectant hush. It was the day the 'Whisper of the Wind' would unveil itself, a celestial phenomenon known only to the Watchers. As the day waned, they began their sacred dance, wings syncing in a rhythmic ballet that beckoned the whisper to commence. It started as a gentle hum, a frequency that resonated with the soul of the earth, stirring the dormant seeds and bidding the flowers to unfurl. This was no ordinary wind; it was the breath of creation, the life force that animated the world's essence. The dance grew fervent, the hum a sonorous echo that coursed through the valleys and over the peaks. It whispered tales of ancient magic, of lost civilizations whose secrets were guarded by the Watchers. In their care, the stories remained pure, untainted by time, waiting for the chosen day when the wind would carry them forth to rekindle the fires of wonder in the hearts of humanity. As twilight descended, the whispers grew into a symphony, an orchestration of the cosmos itself. The Watchers' eyes, those luminous orbs of sapphire, reflected the first evening star’s light. It was the signal they awaited, the moment when the Whisper of the Wind transformed, carrying with it the power to reveal destinies. The people of the earth, unknowing of the Watchers’ silent vigil, felt an inexplicable pull towards their dreams that night. The Whisper of the Wind, now a melodic gale, infiltrated the slumber of artisans, scribes, and visionaries. It was said that on this night, one would dream of past lives and futures possible, of loves lost to time and those yet to be found. The Watchers ensured each dream was saturated with purpose and clarity, each vision a stepping stone to the dreamer’s true path. Yet, this was not merely a night of dreams but of awakening. As the Watchers’ feathers whispered to each other in the high celestial dance, a cascade of shooting stars penned the tales of old across the canvas of the night. Those who awoke looked skyward, their eyes catching the luminescent trails of the stars, their hearts syncing with the ancient rhythm of the earth's breath — the sublime pulse of the Watchers’ wings. The night waned, and the ethereal ballet slowed, the final whispers fading into the warmth of the coming dawn. The Watchers, their duty fulfilled, settled their wings, their eyes closing with the promise of the next whisper. And the world, forever changed by the dreams of one transcendent night, inhaled deeply, its breath now mingled with the timeless Whisper of the Wind.     As the story of the Ethereal Watchers unfolds, their celestial grace can become a tangible part of your world. Imagine your home adorned with the sparkle of a diamond art pattern, reflecting the guardians' wisdom in every facet. Or let the majestic poster of the Watchers bring a transcendent calm to your favorite space. For those who prefer to carry the magic with them, the Watchers' visage graces stickers that can embellish your everyday items, from laptops to water bottles, bringing inspiration wherever you go. And for the admirers of cozy comforts, the Watchers are woven into the very threads of a luxurious throw pillow, ready to envelop you in their mystical embrace. Finally, for those who wish to immerse themselves completely in the tale, a grand tapestry awaits. It can adorn a wall in your dwelling, making every glance a step into the serene world the Watchers guard. The Ethereal Watchers do not just whisper in the wind — they can resonate through the very essence of your abode.

by Bill Tiepelman

The Metallic Masquerade

In the dim light of the equinox, the renowned artifact collector, Evelyn Chartres, stood before a piece that had long eluded the most ardent seekers of esoteric treasures—the "The Metallic Masquerade." It was an artifact of unknown origin, an intricate digital illustration that whispered of a time when art and machinery danced under the same moonlit sky. The optical illusion of the butterfly with twin faces, one menacing, one serene, was said to hold a secret—a map to an undiscovered world or a portal to an ancient past. As Evelyn's eyes traced the symmetrical gears, a sense of disquiet crept over her. The eyes of the twin faces seemed to follow her, an unnerving dance of shadows and light. The longer she stared, the more the room around her seemed to dissolve into darkness until only the butterfly remained, its wings a canvas of moving cogs and swirling colors. That night, the Equinox revealed its first secret; the artifact was alive, in a way no one could have predicted. Every hour, as the clock struck the same time as the position of the orbs on the butterfly wings, the gears began to rotate, emitting a low hum, harmonizing with the ancient rhythm of the equinox itself. Evelyn knew then that she was not merely in the presence of art but an enigma that challenged the very fabric of her reality. As the twin faces oscillated between serenity and threat, a realization dawned upon her—the "The Metallic Masquerade" was not a map or a door; it was a riddle that needed solving. And she was the chosen solver. Ready to delve into the depths of the mystery, Evelyn reached out, her fingers trembling as they moved towards the butterfly. But before she could touch it, the artifact vanished, leaving behind a trail of luminescent dust that hovered in the air, then coalesced into a single word: "Ascend." The Labyrinth of Reflections Evelyn stood in the silence of her library, the word "Ascend" etched into her mind. The luminescent dust had settled into the grooves of her wooden floor, pointing towards a collection of ancient tomes. With each step, the dust sparked under her feet, guiding her to a leather-bound book whose spine read "The Labyrinth of Reflections." As she opened the book, a myriad of mirrored surfaces leapt from the pages, each a dizzying doorway to another place. The twin faces from "The Metallic Masquerade" gazed up at her from the aged parchment, their eyes a challenge, a dare to step into the unknown. Evelyn's reflection splintered into countless iterations, each showing her a different path through a maze of gears and whispers. She realized the labyrinth was not a physical place but a mental construct, a test of wit and will. With the equinox waning, time was her adversary. The illusions within the book were potent, disorienting, designed to mislead and confuse. Yet, amidst the chaos, a pattern emerged. The faces, the gears, the orbs—they aligned, creating a map of constellations that mirrored the night sky. The library faded away as Evelyn was drawn into the book, her very essence traversing the boundaries of reality. She found herself in a hall of mirrors, each reflection a different aspect of the butterfly's wings, a different piece of the puzzle. The artifact's riddle whispered in a thousand echoes around her, "To ascend is to understand the nature of your reflection." As she navigated the labyrinth, the faces from "The Metallic Masquerade" appeared and vanished, an endless cycle of menace and tranquility. Evelyn's heart raced as she approached the heart of the labyrinth, where the true test awaited. Upon a pedestal at the center, a real, tangible version of the artifact laid in wait, its wings spread wide, the twin faces now motionless. As the last light of the equinox slipped away, a single beam illuminated the artifact, and the labyrinth fell silent. The Apex of Truth In the profound silence of the labyrinth's heart, Evelyn stood before the artifact, its wings a constellation of reflected light. She extended her hand, and the twin faces stirred, a symphony of gears whirring to life. With a touch, the faces split, revealing a cavity within the butterfly's body, holding a crystal that pulsed with an inner light. It was the heart of the masquerade, the source of the enigma. The crystal shone with the brilliance of a star, casting prismatic colors across the labyrinth's walls. Evelyn understood—this was the Ascension. It wasn't about rising to the heavens but elevating one's understanding, reaching a state of enlightenment where all illusions fall away, leaving only the truth. The labyrinth, the book, the equinox—they were all facets of a larger design, meant to guide her to this singular moment of discovery. As she held the crystal, visions of worlds beyond her own flashed before her eyes—realms where art breathed and danced, where technology sang in harmony with the pulse of life. She saw the creators of the artifact, beings not bound by flesh but by thought and purpose, challenging those who found their creation to see beyond the surface, to look deeper into the essence of existence. The labyrinth melted away, and Evelyn found herself back in her library, the artifact and the crystal gone. But in their place, on her desk, lay a sketchbook. Within its pages were designs of other artifacts, other labyrinths, each an invitation to embark on a new journey, a new Ascension. The equinox had passed, but its gift remained—a deeper understanding and a new purpose. Evelyn Chartres, once a collector of artifacts, had become a seeker of truths. And "The Metallic Masquerade" was but the first dance in the ballroom of infinity. The end... or perhaps, just the beginning?     From the mystical depths of The Metallic Masquerade emerges a suite of products, each bearing the enigma and elegance of the rare artifact. Discover the collection that brings the essence of the optical illusion and the spirit of the story into tangible form, available exclusively on Unfocussed.com. The Poster: A Portal to Another World Behold the The Metallic Masquerade Poster, your gateway to a realm where art converges with enigma. Each glance offers an invitation to step into a story that unfolds beyond the borders of imagination. The Mouse Pad: Your Companion Through the Labyrinth Chart your course through daily tasks with the The Metallic Masquerade Mouse Pad, a steadfast ally on your desk that promises precision and whispers secrets of a digital odyssey. The Tapestry: Weave the Myth into Your Space Adorn your sanctuary with the The Metallic Masquerade Tapestry, a fabric narrative that drapes your walls in the myth and mystery of the masquerade's eternal dance. The Wood Print: Nature Meets the Mechanical Embrace the duality of the natural and the engineered with the The Metallic Masquerade Wood Print, where the organic grains of wood blend seamlessly with the mechanical marvel of the artwork. The Puzzle: Piece Together the Enigma Engage in the cerebral pleasure of solving the The Metallic Masquerade Puzzle, a challenge that mirrors Evelyn’s journey through the labyrinth, piece by intricate piece. The Throw Pillow: Comfort in the Cosmic Let the cosmic dance of the equinox cradle you in comfort with the The Metallic Masquerade Throw Pillow, a plush companion that embodies the art's celestial whispers and mechanical warmth. Each product in "The Metallic Masquerade" collection is a fragment of the story, a piece of the puzzle waiting to be cherished. Visit Unfocussed.com to bring a part of this legendary tale into your life, and continue the journey of discovery and awe in your own space.