art

Family-themed art is a look into one's living room; it depicts celebration, crises, and the quiet moments of familial interactions.

Ink Bleeds, Not Words
The attic air, thick with dust motes dancing in the one weak beam of sunlight from the grimy dormer window, smelled like old paper and forgotten things. Michael coughed, swiping a hand across his forehead. Forty-seven years old and still dealing with his parents' ghosts, even if only in cardboard boxes. He’d told himself this was just a purge, a necessary declutter before Sarah really started pushing the renovation. But every box he opened felt like prying a lid off a tomb.
By HAADI2 months ago in Families
Moonlit Shuffles
The house felt like a hollowed-out skull. Too big, too quiet, every creak of the floorboards a question Lena didn’t have an answer for. Her father had been gone six weeks. Six weeks, and the air still smelled faintly of his pipe tobacco and the old spice cologne he’d worn since before she was born. Her mother, Clara, moved through the rooms like a ghost, tidying things already neat, dusting surfaces that shone. Lena watched her, a knot of frustration tightening in her gut. She’d driven three hours to be here, to help, to *be* with her mother, but Clara just kept… busy.
By HAADI2 months ago in Families
Shards of a Sunk Heart
Elias tasted the salt on his tongue before his eyes even opened, a permanent fixture in the air of their small, leaning shack on the cliffs. The pre-dawn chill seeped through the cracks in the walls, raising gooseflesh on his arms. Beside him, Lena, twelve years old and too thin, breathed a shallow, rhythmic gasp that always settled his gut, for a moment anyway. He shifted, joints popping like old timber, and the lumpy mattress groaned. Another day. Another dive into the deep, into the silence, into the shimmering ghost of what was once. The Sunken Glass City.
By HAADI2 months ago in Families
Best Gentle Cleansers for Acne-Prone Skin in 2025
December 17, 2025 | By Pure Health Blogs Acne impacts over 85% of individuals between the ages of 12 and 24, making it one of the most widespread skin concerns globally. Despite common misconceptions, aggressive scrubbing and harsh acne cleansers often worsen breakouts by damaging the skin’s natural barrier. This disruption leads to increased oil production, irritation, and inflammation.
By PURE HEALTH BLOGS2 months ago in Families
The Weight of White
John hadn't meant to be awake. Not at three in the morning, definitely not. But his head buzzed with numbers, the kind that didn't add up, the kind that kept him stapled to the worn armchair in the living room, staring at nothing. The house creaked around him, settling, shifting, like an old woman sighing in her sleep. He’d tried counting sheep once, that was a laugh. Ended up counting overdue notices and the tuition for Lily’s art school, which felt like a kick in the gut every time it crossed his mind. The thermostat clicked off, plunging the air into a deeper chill, a feeling that settled into his bones.
By HAADI2 months ago in Families
Moonlit Shards
The air in the kitchen was thick with the scent of burnt toast and unspoken words. Sarah picked at a chipped ceramic plate, pushing around the remains of her half-eaten dinner. Lily, across from her, was a statue carved from teenage angst, eyes glued to a phone screen, a faint blue glow illuminating the sharp angles of her jaw. The silence stretched, tight as a drum skin, ready to snap.
By HAADI2 months ago in Families
The Backward Tick
The grandfather clock was a beast. Six feet tall, dark oak, carved with what looked like dying leaves and grinning gargoyles. Arthur hated it the moment it arrived, a gift from some forgotten great-aunt’s estate. It swallowed light in their already dim living room, smelled faintly of mothballs and stale regret. "It's a relic," he grumbled, wiping a smear of dust from the glass face. "Looks like it belongs in a mausoleum."
By HAADI2 months ago in Families
The Weight of Glass Petals
The air in Elara’s sunroom always tasted of dust and something vaguely metallic, like old pennies left too long in a forgotten jar. It wasn’t a sunroom in the cheerful, plant-filled sense, no. This was a sanctuary for her flowers, shelves upon shelves of them, each one painstakingly crafted from glass, catching the weak afternoon light like tiny, frozen moments. A garden of crystal, she called it, though no soil touched these roots, and no bee ever buzzed near their delicate, sharp petals. They were her life, her entire world, balanced precariously on antique mahogany.
By HAADI2 months ago in Families
Moonlit Fissures
The porch light clicked off the second Lena’s car tires crunched on the gravel drive. A familiar greeting. Her mother, Clara, always did that, a small, passive-aggressive flourish that said, 'You’re late,' without opening her mouth. Lena sighed, a breath that hitched in her chest, the kind that tasted like old dust and unspoken arguments. The house loomed, a darker rectangle against the bruised twilight sky, smelling of lemon polish and the faint, enduring scent of Clara’s lavender potpourri.
By HAADI2 months ago in Families
Where My Heart Learned to Stay
My home does not stand out on any map. It is not famous, grand, or celebrated in photographs. Yet, to me, it is the center of the world—the place where my life first learned its shape, where memories cling to walls like quiet echoes, and where my heart always returns, no matter how far I wander.
By Farhad2 months ago in Families
The Blue Door of Ard na Mara
Clara sat on her worn-out couch, the city hum a dull ache behind the thin walls of her apartment, a ceaseless, indifferent drone. Another Tuesday, another takeout container cooling on her lap, the plastic lid sweating condensation. She scrolled through meaningless feeds, her thumbs moving on autopilot, a restless current under her skin, a craving for something real. Everything felt… temporary, provisional. Like she was just passing through, waiting for a life she hadn't quite grabbed hold of yet. The only constant, the only thing that felt truly rooted, was an ache in her gut, a deep-seated yearning for a place she’d only seen in faded photographs and heard in her grandmother’s lilting, memory-softened voice.
By HAADI2 months ago in Families
The Unspoken Volume
Elara's car crunched gravel, a sound too loud for the oppressive quiet of her grandmother's property. The house, an old brick beast, sat slumped under the weight of years, ivy clutching its walls like desperate fingers. She hadn’t been here since she was a little kid, not properly, and the air still carried that same smell: dust, lemon polish, and something else, something sharp and metallic, like old pennies.
By HAADI2 months ago in Families