Canvas Whispers
Bio
Welcome to Canvas Whispers — where colors speak and stories unfold through art. From soulful visuals to poetic thoughts, this space celebrates creativity, emotion, and imagination.
#Creativity #VisualStorytelling #ArtLife #DigitalArt #Art
Stories (11)
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The girl who paints time
The House That Breathes Color At the very end of the village, where the wind sang in the leaves of the old ashwattha tree and the birds whispered stories from another world, there was a crooked old house. The house stood slightly tilted, as if tired of remembering so many things.
By Canvas Whispers8 months ago in Chapters
The house surrounded by colors
The house was at the end of the village. People used to say, "It seems to live on its own." Day after day, night after night, someone painted on the walls of that abandoned house—living pictures, just like the deepest dreams of the human heart!
By Canvas Whispers8 months ago in Chapters
"The room where the clocks forgot the time"
Letter without a stamp That day, Mira was quietly packing her clothes, drenched in the scent of lavender. Her life had been on hold for a long time. Thistledown was like that—where no one new came, no one brought news, and even the air was old.
By Canvas Whispers8 months ago in Chapters
The house that was waiting for him
The letter without a stamp Lena received that letter one Tuesday afternoon. She hadn't been in the attic for many years. Maybe not since her father's death. But that day, there was an invisible pull—toward a forgotten plank, where dust silently gathered, and emptiness breathed.
By Canvas Whispers8 months ago in Chapters
The last words of the letter
Simanti slowly got off the bus. It took her several years to return to this village, leaving the hustle and bustle of the city behind. Her childhood home was now almost deserted. After her grandmother's death, the house had become frozen like an old picture hanging in the chest of time.
By Canvas Whispers8 months ago in Chapters
The house where the rain never stops
When Elliot first saw the house, he wasn’t looking for anything. Or so he tried to tell himself. That autumn morning, his shoes were heavy with mud as he walked along the forest path. His scarf was covered in wet mist, and each step felt like he had been walking for centuries. The camera bag slung over his shoulder—a memory of a time when taking pictures meant understanding life, keeping it alive.
By Canvas Whispers8 months ago in Chapters
Clockmaker's window
"Time waits for no one. But time has been sitting silently in Mr. Elori's shop for forty-seven years." A small watch shop in a secluded corner of town. The dust on the signboard has made the letters almost indistinct. Yet if one squints, one can read:
By Canvas Whispers8 months ago in Chapters
The poet who only wrote in the rain
Main Story A small town where even the wind seemed to speak to his ear. At the end of the town, in a secluded corner of an old house, lived Aarav—a strange poet. He had no pen, no diary, no blank sheet of paper. He wrote only when the sky cried.
By Canvas Whispers8 months ago in Poets
