Painting

The Art of Love. Top Story - July 2023.
“The world is but a canvas to our imagination.” Henry David Thoreau I love art. In all forms. It has been a constant through painting, music, writing, and woodworking. Art, in all its forms, is how I express myself and process my own emotions. My house is full of paintings, wooden art, furniture, and tapestries. Some I have painted. I even have one my husband painted, probably the only painting he has ever done. In his words, he is not artistic.
By J. Delaney-Howe3 years ago in Art
From Below the Cloud
Here, on this cloud. No better place to be, than here, on this cloud. To look down below and see my love, who once loved me, walking along the green hills with another man’s hand in hers. But saying another man would be incorrect. For here, laying on this cloud and speaking, is a being of half-man half-animal. My legs replaced with a beast’s hind legs of burnt umber colored fur and hooves clicking instead of calm flat feet. And when my hands brush the delicate waves of the hair on my head, the curled horns bar my fingers. I am strong, that is true, but inside I am as soft as the faint song heard from a Blue Bird singing far within the spring-morning mountains. And the only way the people hear this song, is not when they look at me or hear me speak like an ordinary man speaks, it is when I play. When I press my lips gently against the wooden flute and pour all that is within me out through the wooden holes, then, out comes my song. A sad song. A song of loneliness and of love never felt and given, and acceptance never received. And when the people are in town and can hear this song playing in the distance, they follow it. Follow it through the village, across the bridge and up towards the green hills. And then they see me. Me, playing this song. And no matter how sweet the song is and how far they have traveled to be close to it, when they see me all the curiosity and delight on their faces disappear and they hurriedly walk away, leaving me alone to play my sad song.
By Katheleen3 years ago in Art
The Artistry of Painted Prose: Engaging the Senses through Vivid Descriptions
Section 1: The Essence of Painted Prose Painted prose, often referred to as descriptive prose, is a literary technique that emphasizes the use of vivid and expressive language to create immersive imagery and evoke sensory experiences. Unlike bare-bones prose that focuses solely on conveying information, painted prose infuses narratives with vibrant colors, textures, sounds, smells, and tastes. It engages the reader's senses, transporting them into the heart of the story and allowing them to experience its world on a deeper level. Through carefully chosen words and detailed descriptions, authors paint a vivid canvas in the reader's mind, transforming mere words into an art form.
By Ndlangamandla Thulasizwe3 years ago in Art
Unrestrained Desire
A young artist by the name of Gamardi found himself lured by the mysterious smile of the Mona Lisa while wandering the busy streets of contemporary Paris. He was overcome by a wave of emotions when she cast a curious look his way. Gamardi set out on a path that would combine fiction, dishonesty, and the depths of infatuation after being inspired by her allure.
By Gloria Anderson3 years ago in Art
Uncle Willie
My uncle was always famous. At least in our house he was. His name was William James Thomas Jr. Which was his stage name. Yeah, he had a stage name his entire life. His real name was William Omar Jones, but he said that didn't have enough pop. He also said the Jr always makes you sound more important. That someone wanted to make sure people knew you belonged to them.
By Tyrone Livingston3 years ago in Art
Wanderlust
Thin air burned in his lungs. For a moment, just a hint of a moment, he considered the wagon slowly trundling along behind him. But that was pointless, he would still only be able to travel at the pace of the slowest porter; and besides, it was better to spare the horses at these altitudes. Not for the first time, he looked around as a broad grin split his face. Mountains are never so glorious as when one is on foot between their massive shoulders.
By Alexander McEvoy3 years ago in Art
Sunrise on the Bay
The sun was setting over the small fishing village of Saint-Pierre, casting a warm orange glow over the old stone buildings and the peaceful harbor. It was a quiet evening, with only the sound of the waves lapping against the shore and the occasional call of a seagull breaking the silence.
By Karla Valentina Salamanca3 years ago in Art
The Whispering Stars
Vincent van Gogh's painting "Starry Night" has always held a magical allure. With its swirling skies and luminescent stars, it seems to beckon viewers into a dreamlike world. Tonight, we delve into this world, where stars whisper secrets and reality is as malleable as the vibrant colors on Van Gogh's canvas.
By Stevie Johnson3 years ago in Art
Bob Ross made me do it
Watching Bob Ross painting has always been my go-to relaxation activity. No spa or relaxing bath for me! No, I grab myself a glass of something, an elderflower cordial, and maybe a snack to nibble on and plonk myself on the couch to watch the fuzzy haired maestro himself. I can feel the tension tangibly releasing itself from my shoulders and neck as I drift into his creative process, like an air pillow. I love it when he mixes a bit of "Prussian Blue" and "Van Dyke Brown" and seemingly dabs it onto a canvas in a random way but revealing way, creating phenomenal pictures.
By Rachel Deeming3 years ago in Art
The Sisters' Feast
The sisters sat upon their bench, using flowers from the garden to create garlands that would hang in the hallways and from the windows. It was a tradition and their garden never failed to amaze. It was always bountiful, blooming in the brightest colors with the richest scents.
By Katrina Thornley3 years ago in Art
B.I. Mona Lisa
“Mona, you keep moving. You will need to hold very still.” “How still, Mr. Leo?” “Still like my stargazing eyes, or my steady hand. Watch, as it intrinsically strokes and caresses the page with all these magnificent symmetrical shapes and color. Marvelous! How about it, Mona?”
By Beautiful Intelligence3 years ago in Art
Wave Direction
Inside of me I'm caught in a trap. It's all reality but visually mutated in a sort of pleasing but warped way. I'm stuck on this hill.
By Collin Salajka McCormick3 years ago in Art