Process
Jim Sloan
By Brian D’Ambrosio At 90, Jim Sloan has lived several lifetimes’ worth of work—carpenter, sign painter, excavator, sawmiller, road-builder and the go-to rattlesnake remover of Galisteo, New Mexico. Art may be the through-line, but it has never been the source of his income, nor the center of his universe. Sloan has always kept one foot in the studio and the other in the soil, without bothering to decide which world he truly belongs to. The truth is that he fits cleanly into neither, and he has long since stopped trying.
By Brian D'Ambrosio a day ago in Art
The Crossroads of Becoming
I found it by accident. Tucked between a laundromat and a shuttered bookstore, half-hidden by ivy and time, stood a rusted phone booth. Not the sleek glass kind from movies, but an old metal one—peeling paint, cracked receiver, a dial so stiff it groaned when turned. No one had used it in years. Probably decades.
By KAMRAN AHMAD8 days ago in Art
Art Isn’t Escape — It’s Translation
People often speak of art as a doorway out—an exit from reality, a refuge from pain, a soft place to land when the world grows loud. They say we read to forget, paint to flee, write to disappear. But the longer I live, the less that idea holds. Art has never taken me away from life. It has taken me deeper into it.
By Jhon smith11 days ago in Art
The Bench by the River
Every evening, I walked past the same old bench by the river. Its wood was weathered, gray with age, the paint long gone, and yet it had a quiet dignity that made me pause, if only for a second. I had always been in a rush—rushing home from school, rushing to finish homework, rushing to keep up with life. But that evening, something about the rain, or maybe just my exhaustion, made me stop.
By Yasir khan16 days ago in Art
The Night I Decided to Build My Own Universe
The Quiet Birth of a World There is a specific kind of silence that only exists at 3:00 AM. For me, that’s when the Lyonheart Universe actually started to take shape. It wasn't a sudden "lightbulb" moment or a calculated business plan; it was just a single, persistent image of a character that I couldn't stop thinking about. For months, these fragments of dialogue and half-formed scenes felt like haunting questions that I was being forced to answer through a camera lens. It didn’t arrive ready for a global audience; it arrived as a raw, messy need to tell a story that felt different from everything else I was seeing on my feed.
By Lyon Gaber17 days ago in Art
When Music Learns to See . AI-Generated.
Music has always painted pictures in the listener’s mind. Now, with artificial intelligence, those pictures can exist on screen—instantly, beautifully, and in perfect sync. As digital platforms continue to prioritize video-first content, artists and brands face a new creative demand: every sound needs a visual identity.
By Beat Viz ai18 days ago in Art
The Day the Silence Learned to Speak
On the edge of a quiet town called Marrowell stood a clock tower that had not spoken in twelve years. People still checked the time by it, of course. The hands moved faithfully, circling the face with stubborn loyalty, but the bell—once the town’s heartbeat—had gone silent after a storm cracked its iron tongue. The mayor promised repairs. The years promised forgetting. And forgetting, as it often does, won.
By Yasir khan19 days ago in Art
