Holly Harford

Holly Anne Harford. A very tall, punk rock newt hoenikker. Just a babychild creative trying to make some type of art and testing out forms of expression.

From Western Australia


adventure-and-drawings asked:
What's the difference between this blog and isitbatman?

This blog is my creative portfolio that only has my original work, the sort of thing I could present professionally. While isitbatman is my personal tumblr of reblogs and selfies and casual interaction :)

Unique Monoprint Series - April 2014 

Aug. 27 2014 - Light and Exposure Portraits 

Aug. 27 2014 - self portrait 

Two headed boy
All floating in glass
The sun it has passed 
Now it’s blacker than black
I can hear as you tap on your jar
I am listening to hear where you are

USA 2014 - Travel Montage 


Ramshackle Glory, Endless Mike and the Beagle Club, Human Kitten, Speaker For The Dead @ 2640 Church Space, Baltimore - 5/7/14

Broken World Media Showcase 2014 @ The Place Bar and Lounge 3rd July

with For Everest, Soda Bomb, Makeshift Shelters, David F. Bello and People Like You


I was born in a house on fire,
flame like a hand on my mothers throat.
A distaste of ash is left in my mouth
the dust on the wings on moths
pretending, to be butterflies.
The monarchs rise when I meet a man,
they stand to take a knee and bow-
a patriarchal kaleidoscope, swarm or rabble
manifesting itself as bile.

They say that a sensual touch is like a spark,
and man, in me does it start a forrest fire.
Wings beat free from the chrysalises made
by the caterpillars forced down my throat as a child
as they hid from the burning walls.

I don’t know if I can take another cocoon,
my stomach grows hard with string
spun out of copper wire caressing
with it’s sharp points and mutilating scars.

A two year old screaming as flames lick,
she doesn’t know that the world is ablaze.

Holly Anne Harford

The smell of the washing power on my jeans
Is the smell it was when I last kissed you
The sun was burning and cooking me here
And now it’s getting cool again and so am I.
It smells like a thousand years ago,
Like a whole ocean and like spice with a hint of vanilla.
Next time I wash these ill rinse away yet another memory of you
Another thing that pulls your smile to my mind,
And one day they’re won’t be anything there at all.