art
Family-themed art is a look into one's living room; it depicts celebration, crises, and the quiet moments of familial interactions.
Blue & Moo Goo
Blue & Moo Goo Why not, I said to myself. Become a famous writer, how hard could it be. I think I’ll start with writing Picture Books; I like to draw. I can see myself now, sitting in the children’s cove at Barnes & Noble, coffee in one hand, my favorite pen in the other. Little rosy-cheeked prince and princesses waiting in line to get their favorite book signed, well, at least favorite for now. Only one nose picker today, not bad. I had just read to them for storytime, and not one of them fell asleep. They were engaged; it is a good day.
By Kimberly Paulus5 years ago in Families
Origin of Antique Chairs
The antique chairs have not always been popular. The lower and middling classes sat on benches and stools throughout the mediaeval era and before. The chair did not become a symbol of high rank or privilege until the Renaissance in Europe, when it became a common piece of furniture for the expanding middle class. With the "luxury" associated with the chair removed, it quickly became popular across Europe, and it quickly became a symbol of the time's trends.
By Kevin Taylor5 years ago in Families
Dream time
When I think of my favorite bedtime story, it is not one story I think of, but I am transported back in time to being 4 or 5 years old. My mom has dropped me off at her parents’ place on the countryside, my grandma is about to prepare my favorite dinner; Homemade French Fries, and she could really use my ’help’ to set the table. My Grandfather arrives home from his job perfectly timed with dinner being served. I always loved my grandparents, already when I was young they were such unique characters to me. My grandfather never told me to not do anything, he left that responsibility to my grandmother. He would warn me not to put my hands on the stove and explain with a small amount of words why it could end badly to run with scissors but more than anything, he‘d play tricks on me, pull jokes, prank me. It was like a small theater play, and my grandmother would hold my hand as we adventured all together. In summer, after dinner, we’d sit in the garden as quietly as we could, on chairs right next to the table where my grandmother would feed the birds. My grandfather would drink up to three dark beers, and I believed him when he told me butterflies liked beer. As we sat there in silence, watching the spectacular amount of birds my grandmother was feeding, peacock butterflies would come together on my grandfather‘s white shirt, sipping from his beer, Showing 4 eyes each time they open their wings.
By Cifer Mushu5 years ago in Families
The Brown Paper Bag
Once upon a time, there was a girl who dreamed of sewing. And knitting. And crocheting. But most of all, she dreamed of embroidering. That’s because one day her grandmother gave her a present. It was a gift that was especially important because her grandmother had many grandchildren. And she could have given this gift to any of the older ones. But she didn’t. She gave this twelve-year-old girl her most precious possession – a small brown paper bag with all the colors of the rainbow in it. And a wooden hoop. The girl didn’t know what to do with these beautiful things so she tucked them away on her secret shelf in her bedroom closet – the shelf with the sparkly stones that she found on a camping trip, and the beautiful necklace that her friend gave her.
By Gigi Gibson5 years ago in Families
Scissor Dreams
Scissors, I came across this word while I was looking for sewing supplies and I started thinking about how sewing and creating has become such a large part of who I am. Sewing is one of my earliest memories and one of the first things I ever made was a mermaid out of an old sock as a gift for my grandmother. Years later, after her death, I found it in her box of "Important papers". She was the reason that I sewed, she bought me a sewing machine and a good pair of scissors when I was nine and told me how to care for them. Only use these scissors to cut fabrics and dreams, she said and I took heed.
By Jamine Santiago5 years ago in Families
My Mother's Birthday Cards
Every year, for as long as I can remember, I used to make my mother a card for her birthday, and when I was younger, also for any other special occasions during the year. She loved them, they made her so happy and she made her appreciation so apparent that it always made it worth it! The whole room lit up when she smiled with her sparkling green eyes. She left last year (by left, I mean to the place from which one never returns…) and so, as I now go through her things - a task I find so very hard, and yet in other ways rewarding, I keep finding these cards which she treasured, hidden between books on her shelves, or kept in special envelopes amongst other papers. I know they were very special to her and I loved making them. Somehow, perhaps because my father was a painter and a cartoonist, who made his own beautiful cards - I keep finding those too, I wanted to use my own medium with which to create mine. That medium became whatever I could find, mostly coloured paper and or coloured card, which I would cut into shapes with scissors, and in more recent years, a pair of Fiskar scissors with their vibrant orange handle! My mother was a writer, and I would often take inspiration from her passion for writing and literature for these cards and make some tiny little books with coloured paper on the outside and white paper on the inside that I would stitch on so that they could be little “3D” objects on the card. Sometimes I would make the little books in other shapes.
By Joanna Bergin5 years ago in Families
Gnomes
Gnomes are not just for children! These elfish figures with there individual expressions and personalities steal the hearts of adults as much as they do children. Gnomes are similar to humans in their family structure. The men marry, have children, and most prefer to live in woodland settings. They have close family units. Gnomes are seven times as strong as humans and so hard work poses no problem.
By Judy Worsham5 years ago in Families
My Piano
When I was a little girl only 12 or so one day I came home and my parents bought and organ, the type with many instruments. I was one of six but a very quiet person. But for hours I played that organ, and I taught myself to play and read music. I played for hours at at time. One day the person who lived next door came over and ask my mom, who is the concert pianist. It was me! But it started earlier than that when I was a 3 or four my mom had a piano in the house. I would play for hours playing that piano. My baby brother was born, and he played the piano with me. He is still an entertainment to this day. Something happened when I was 12. One day I came home, and the organ was gone. I was only 12 I did understand why it would be gone. I later found out later that it was returned to the maker for nonpayment. Then I became an adult and I said I must find my joy a piano, so I saved all my money and then I bought my own piano. It was so beautiful. I would play for hours at a time. Then one summer I met my second husband and we moved, and many changes happen. You guessed I had to sell the piano however, I was so happy because that piano went to a little girl. I know you wondering let me set your mind at ease in high school I had a private male of course Piano teacher, his name was Roger Spot and he is dead now. He was unique because not only could he play, but he also played with some of the greats. Roger was like a father figure; he had no eyebrows he had a hairless face. The next piano was interested because that one I gave away I bought from the father of a Piano company; he was dead. His Son in Los Angeles sold me the most beautiful Piano for only 900 and it was fully tuned. It was a strange time, but I would play for hours and soon after I got it my stepdaughter came and I met her for the first time. I wrote her a song on my new piano. The birds would sing with me daily as I played my instrument.
By Wanda B Henry5 years ago in Families
Littles Pieces Make The Big Picture
From the age of 12 I began to spend time in my father’s office/makeshift studio in the basement of our home. It was a three-story greek-style house with white walls and blue windows. Most of the homes in my neighbourhood in Tunis, Tunisia were built that way. A stark contrast to the earth-coloured brick-built London home I live in today. My father was a diplomat by day and an artist by night. His heroes were the likes of Rex Lawson and B.B King. His studio was in the same space as the children’s living/play area; tucked in the back corner, adjacent to the small but loud laundry room and opposite the door that leads into the garage. Whenever I was home from boarding school, my days stated early and finished late. I would watch copious amounts of television and spend hours in his studio playing his guitars and writing songs. Every evening, after the sun had died, I would be jolted back to reality by the sound of his Mercedes CLK320 shouting at the gate. I’d quickly rearrange everything as I had found it and plant myself in front of the TV again. My younger brother reminded me of this recently. Somehow I had forgotten those years. Memories leave when you don’t give them attention. Especially the foundational ones – that era is the backbone to my entire life. When I left home for good, I took that basement studio with me. Till today the walls of my mind always have words written in white chalk and black ink – crossed out, underlined; stanzas, paragraphs, poems – finished and unfinished. All those hours and years I had given to that basement had given me something in return, love and power. I had fallen in love with words. But it took 16 years to learn how to manage her power.
By Azuoma Obikudu5 years ago in Families
