Pat Ludwig
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Pat Ludwig
@avataristic.bsky.social
250 followers 200 following 190 posts
Handmade art photography using traditional stone tools. NOT AI. All images-words original unless otherwise noted.
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All About The Bones (2025)

Consider your high station
Think about your fame
All of your creation depended on your frame
Ain’t no doubt about it:
Flesh can set the tone
But when you get down to the rhythm, man
You get right down to the bone
- Chris Smither
All About The Bones (2025) A multi-layered image of bare tree stumps that look like bleached bones set on a background of autumn leaves.
November 8, 2025 at 12:59 PM
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Think Geologically (2025)
Think Geologically (2025) An image of a beach rock face amid other rocks, semi-transparent with an image of the seashore waves in its face and some turbulent waves underneath it. The rock sits on top of a smaller rock and together looks like an apple with stem. Geology I know the origin of rocks, settling out of water, hatching crystals from fire, put under pressure in various designs I gathered pretty, picnic after picnic. And I know about love, a little, igneous lust, the slow affections of the sedimentary, the pressure on earth out of sight to rise up into material, something solid you can hold, a whole mountain, for example, or a loose collection of pebbles you forgot you were keeping. - Robert King
November 6, 2025 at 1:47 PM
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Beep! Beep! (2025)
Beep! Beep! (2025) An image of a white car with racing stripe emerging from a tunnel driven by the Road Runner. The car has a dent in its bumper with a splat silhouette of Wile E. Coyote in it.
November 4, 2025 at 12:43 PM
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Some Desperate Glory (2025)
Some Desperate Glory (2025) An image of a city in ruins in dark browns as seen through the broken wall of a building. some desperate glory the city was left in ruin torn body of circumstance. seen through battered walls of smothered conversation a second before the explosion. our pantomime celebrations where sound has drowned itself in the ringing, crowds gather body parts amid the rubble. we cling to the outcome desperate for some manner of glory where the worth of breaking light does not keep us chained or collateral damage. a dawn unconcerned with us, gathering our dust as only an endless measure of time.
November 2, 2025 at 12:56 PM
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Pizza de los Muertos (2021)

Happy Halloween! 👻

Its normally also Pizza Day in our house so we're saving some for the our dear dead relatives...
A colorful image of a Dia de los Muertos mask superimposed on top of a pizza. Give thanks and respect to those who came before you.
October 31, 2025 at 1:20 PM
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Where the Buoys Are (2019)

Another older photo taken in Spring after a Quebec winter that saw one of the channel buoys in the Saint Laurent drift up the Gaspésie and land on our beach. It languished there sun-bathing and seemed lonely so I gave it a companion.
An image of a beach along the St Lawrence river in the Bas-st-Laurent where a bright red channel buoy has found its way to shore. And in its loneliness has attracted a companion to share in the sun-bathing.
October 28, 2025 at 1:41 PM
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Winter Jay (2011)
Winter Jay (2011) An image of a bluejay perched on a snowy branch of an evergreen tree puffed up against the cold
October 25, 2025 at 2:32 PM
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Outgrowing the Museum (2025)
Outgrowing the Museum (2025) An image of a museum gallery overgrown with gigantic water lilies growing above the floor and a vivid wall of abstract flowers that has somehow escaped to outside the museum Museum of Tolerance The shirtless man by the ticket counter has already broken the gloom here, his crowd of two boys and the cashier with the Star of David gathered around and mouthing astonishment as he tells the tale behind every scar. Yes, this one on the side was from the camp— he tells them not to be shy to ask— when he tripped into the ditch on the run after stealing cigarettes, the one on the knuckle from punching the soldier in the bar, brave with whiskey, a decade after. Touch it, he snarls, jutting out his fist. That split a real Nazi’s lip. In the rooms behind him, the voices lay low but touch is the rule, the extended families passing in fours and fives as tight as at church or the carnival. Are they all survivors here, dazed and exhilarated by the fate that dropped them so far from blight? A father heads the line, shirt fat with muscles and a single proud thumb pushing the stroller; the woman and girl hug sideways, then again, tight as dancers in a row. At each display, the time lines and the whispered assurances reiterate that what is done is done. Pol Pot is dead, the children of Kampuchea reading again to go to college; Rwanda has forgiven itself and opened supermarkets; the ghettos are demolished, the Cold War won. Sudan, they skip. For now, the beasts are gone. They face the new life, the one after the mending, after the last mistakes were made. - Michael Miller
October 23, 2025 at 12:55 PM
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Triumph of the Small (2025)
Triumph of the Small (2025) An image of sea life on the bottom of the ocean in bright golds, reds, and greens.
October 21, 2025 at 2:19 PM
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Winter Blooms (2025)
Winter Blooms (2025) An image of a snowy mountain scene in bloom-like fragments in whites an blues.
October 19, 2025 at 12:38 PM
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No Kings!
October 18, 2025 at 12:12 PM
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Almost Africa (2025)

Our civilization car is running wild,
Who did you give the wheel to?
The fat man driving us over the edge of the nearest cliff-face,
Is he the same god that I've seen you kneel to?
{From Its Nearly Africa}
- Andy Partridge XTC
Abstract image collage in golds and browns almost resembling the continent of Africa
October 17, 2025 at 8:42 PM
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Angel of Mortality (2025)
Angel of Mortality (2025) An image of a dark brown and dark-red moth rising from the body of a larger luna moth. A dark angel from the other side of mortality
October 15, 2025 at 1:00 PM
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The Angry City Inside (2025)
The Angry City Inside (2025) An abstract image of a storm swirling around a distant city in purples, blues, golds, and crimson
October 12, 2025 at 2:13 PM
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After the blooms, only the memories (2025)
After the blooms, only the memories (2025) An image in bright greens and crimson of rose bushes after the blooms have gone, seen through memory where only the rose cherries remain.
October 10, 2025 at 1:56 PM
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Dragon Wind (2025)

The Dragon found-art is from a photo of a now painted-over mural (artist unknown) on the defunct Saki Bomb restaurant in Worcester MA. History is re-written, culture eats itself, but memories live on! 龙风

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Dragon Wind (2025) An image of Chinese dragons caught in a chaos of winds in deep purples and blues... The Dragon found-art is from a photo of a now painted-over mural (artist unknown) on the defunct Saki Bomb restaurant in Worcester MA. History is re-written, culture eats itself, but memories live on. 龙风
October 8, 2025 at 12:50 PM
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Fertile Delta (2025)
Fertile Delta (2025) An impressionistic image of a landscape seen from above of a river and its delta. In blues and greens and gold and orange.
October 6, 2025 at 11:49 AM
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Pink Riot (2025)

{Greek Chorus}

Who's to blame when parties really get out of hand?
Who's to blame when they get poorly planned?

Who's to blame when situations degenerate?
Disgusting things you'd never anticipate?
A bright background collage of pink hibiscus flowers with a larger flower exploding in the foreground.
October 3, 2025 at 4:02 PM
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Garden Tour (2025)
Garden Tour (2025) Abstract collage of flower petals in purples, yellows, and burnt orange.
September 30, 2025 at 1:48 PM
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Le Village Submergé (2025)
An image of LIghthouse Point in Metis sur Mer Quebecs on a sunny day where the water reflects a submerged city. Submerged City That city will be no more, no halos of spring mornings when green hills tremble in the midst and rise like barrage balloons— and May won’t cross its streets with shrieking birds and summer’s promises. No breathless spells, no chilly ecstasies of spring water. Church towers rest on the ocean’s floor, and flawless views of leafy avenues fix no one’s eyes. And still we live on calmly, humbly—from suitcases, in waiting rooms, on airplanes, trains, and still, stubbornly, blindly, we seek the image, the final form of things between inexplicable fits of mute despair— as if vaguely remembering something that cannot be recalled, as if that submerged city were traveling with us, always asking questions, and always unhappy with our answers— exacting, and perfect in its way. - Adam Zagajewski Translation from Polish - Clare Cavanagh
September 28, 2025 at 3:11 PM
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Tilt-A-Whirl (2025)
Tilt-A-Whirl (2025) A surreal image of a Tilt-A-Whirl carnival ride where the ride is caught up in a vortex of twirl. Summer's Almost Gone The squirrels are spreading the rumor: no more monkey business. The Dow Jones hops up, then down, then back up, trying for attention, up against dog days. The Capitol dome rattles like a witch doctor's gourd. “More Republicans,” warn the talking drums. The networks labor underground to stockpile T, A, and blood capsules for Sweeps Week, when all hell won’t be enough to save some. Pedestrians slip into light coats of pollen and mold spores. The Enquirer reports the sighting of Satan's image over Chicago during the heat emergency. His words were, “For the hottest deals in town, see Sal at Mutto's Chevrolet on East Wacker.” The old elms shrug: “You think this is hot: we could tell you about hot.” Walmart and Kmart burgeon into crooked towers of back-to-school candy. They're heaven-bound, via the moon. Greeters offer themselves to the lowest common denominator. There's a Blue- Light on moon caps. Representatives from Tire City have announced they intend a hostile takeover and cleansing of their former territory, now known as Carpet City. Furniture City will not intervene. The NFL’s negotiating for rights to the Baptist Church. The carnies have packed up the Tilt-A-Whirl and Ferris wheel, leaving us up to our ass in free parking. Everyone under 30 dreams of shoplifting some Air Jordans for school. Everyone over 30 dreams of going to prison for shoplifting. The hypochondriacs wake up noticing little dark spots in front of their eyes, think they could be in the middle of something serious. “Winterize now,” say the prime-time commercials. “Spend, spend, spend!” cry the cicadas and katydids over the scorched, moonlit lawns. - William Trowbridge
September 26, 2025 at 1:45 PM
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Bricolage (2025)
Bricolage (2025) An image of a brick assemblage where the brick contain little vignettes of scenes. Bricolage as well as a play on the word "brick"
September 24, 2025 at 12:23 PM
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Locust Queen (2025)
September 22, 2025 at 12:56 PM
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Drunk on August Wine (2025)
Drunk on August Wine (2025) An abundance of hydrangeas at the peak of their summer blossoms in bright crimson. In Late August In a culvert by the airport under crumbling slag wine colored water seeps to this pool the two does drink from: each sipping as the other keeps look out. The skyline is a blur of  barcode and microchip. Even at home we hold the narrowest purchase. No arcs of tracer fire. No caravans of fleeing families. Only this suspicion ripples through our circles of lamp glow (as you sweep the faint sweat from your forehead and flip another page in your novel) this sense that all we own is the invisible web of our words and touches silence and fabulation all make believe and real as the two does out scavenging through rose hips and shattered drywall: their presence in the space around them liveliest just before they vanish. - Peter Campion
September 19, 2025 at 1:01 PM
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Undertow #2 (2025)
Undertow #2 A seascape image of a beach where the tides have become a churning undertow. The second image in a series Undertow People looking at the sea, makes them feel less terrible about themselves, the sea's behaving abominably, seems never satisfied, what it throws away it dashes down then wants back, yanks back. Comparatively, thinks one vice president, what are my frauds but nudged along misunderstandings already there? I can't believe I ever worried about my betrayals, thinks the analyst benefitting facially from the sea's raged-up mist. Obviously I'm not the only one suffering an identity crisis knows the boy who wants to be a lawyer no more. Nothing can stay long, cogitates the dog, so maybe a life of fetch is not a wasted life. And the sea heaves and cleaves and seethes, shoots snot out, goes to bed only to wake shouting in the mansion of the night, pacing, pacing, making tea then spilling it, sudden outloud laughter snort, Oh what the heck, I probably drove myself crazy, thinks the sea, kissing all those strangers, forgiving them no matter what, liars in confession, vomitters of plastics and fossil fuels but what a stricken elixir I've become even to my becalmed depths, while through its head swim a million fishes seemingly made of light eating each other. - Dean Young
September 17, 2025 at 11:35 AM