Archibald Blondinet

Surrealist artist & writer


One of those days

  • One of those days

    When it comes to verbalising my artworks, I’m usually the one rolling up my sleeves, getting my hands dirty, and leaving fingerprints all over the keyboard—and you can guess who’s got to clean up the mess afterwards. This time, however, I pointed my smudged finger at my Instagram followers and invited them to take over.…

  • Pink Presentations

    Pink Presentations was a group exhibition held at UltraSuperNew Gallery in Harajuku, Tokyo, in August 2018, featuring 12 creatives invited to explore the many facets of the colour pink beyond its constrained and traditional femininity. My contribution, Puzzled icebound naive kennels—an acronym for PINK—took the form of two A5 posters, where I explored the colour…

  • REVS magazine

    REVS magazine positions itself as “a platform that nurtures the collective spirit—bringing together diverse voices, artists, and creatives to foster a shared vision.” Printed in a larger-than-life format, its pages feature stunning models adorned in artistic garments, engulfed in vibrant whirlwinds of motion blur, shallow depth of field, and bold, eccentric patterns. But don’t be…

When it comes to verbalising my artworks, I’m usually the one rolling up my sleeves, getting my hands dirty, and leaving fingerprints all over the keyboard—and you can guess who’s got to clean up the mess afterwards. This time, however, I pointed my smudged finger at my Instagram followers and invited them to take over. Surrealist art, by nature, opens the stained door to countless interpretations, and I was curious to see how this experiment would unfold.

There was nothing more she wanted than to smell again; the scent of thick lust musk. But the truth is, it would’ve killed her. Slowly, softly, and silently.

And as much as she wished on every eyelash that fell onto her fingertips in the morning, the universe had set out different plans for her.

This is a story about a woman who was lost and continues to lose. Unable to smell her desires, she stuck her head in an unending cement loop; leaving her with the only option to perpetually breathe in the rotting breath of her own mouth.

Standmore


Empezó siendo un clavo. Un clavo de concreto, oblicuo sobre una superficie horizontal, nada fuera de lo ordinario. La peluca vino después. Una peluca negra, lacia, para cubrir el remache que siempre le pareció en exceso simplón. El vestido, las pequeñas manitas de porcelana, algunas flores de colores, terminaron de darle cuerpo al cuerpo. Entonces, dejó de ser un clavo. ¿Dejó de ser un clavo?

Atila el Dhos


The more she thought about it the bigger the pain became. After all not everyday one is dumped at the altar.

Señor Raulito


She is changing her life’s direction. At first it seems like a catastrophe but she is heading in the right direction.

a_vidal_e


Le même schéma se reproduit dans sa vie sentimentale. Aucun homme ne voit ce qu’elle aspire réellement. Tout ce qu’elle reçoit, ce sont des fleurs. Elle en prend soin mais elles se fanent silencieusement. L’amour qu’elle y construit n’est jamais plus large que cette perspective. Quand bien même il n’en reste plus rien à la fin, le schéma se répète. La bonne nouvelle c’est qu’elle a découvert cet amour qui ne se limite plus à la possessivité.

Pascale Nguyen

Info

  • Type: Personal
  • Year: 2019