art
The best relationship art depicts the highs and lows of the authentic couple.
Snip Stitch Snip
I majored in studio art in college, I had always loved being creative and it seemed like the right step to take. Painting, photography, printmaking, drawing-all these art forms were ones that I longed to be better at. I practiced hard and gained considerable skill, but to be honest, what I was the most exceptional at was the process. Sure, I could take a good photo, but I was better at developing the photographs. I could come up with a good idea for printmaking, but I excelled at the tightly controlled process of actually making the print. I thought it was more fashionable to be creative and come up with genre shattering ideas. Skill always seemed like a silver medal, nice, but not great. This was also a time where I was exploring my place in the world without my parents directly at my side, seeing who I was in the scheme of things. After a little adjustment, it turned out I was a minty fresh feminist artist. There's a brashness that comes with that first step, a kind of grabbing of rights, an insistence of recognition and equality. Those days are important to every woman that experiences them. It's the lighting of a fire. I shunned traditional female roles, don't want to cook? Don't. Don't want to wear skirts? #pantsforever. No bra? Done. Those first changes are like a vibration altering all facets of your life and sometimes are more black and white than they need to be. I don't judge that woman, she had sass. Art is a wonderful way to discover yourself. Art finds you on the surface-shimmering and obvious, and it finds you deep inside where you are sometimes afraid to look. I thought that my art had to reflect the new me, a visionary, someone who only looked forward and not back. Then an assignment came: use traditional "women's work" to express yourself. I was so angry about it because, to me, it meant that I would be turning back the clock on all the progress I had made and doing the things that I thought I wasn't supposed to do any more. I'd already thrown off those shackles, why the hell would I put them back on willingly? Sewing, knitting, crochet, that all seemed so anathema to me and the person I was becoming. It didn't matter that when I was younger, I found washing and ironing my mother's vintage doll clothes so pleasing. It didn't occur to me that designing art house clothing for my Barbie dolls and sewing them by hand was anti-feminist. I didn't even think about how my friends and I would make colorful scarves and skirts and bags and dresses so we could stand out in a sea of girls dressed in clothes from The Limited. No, this project, for some reason, was a threat. I did it, of course, it was an assignment after all. Though I barely remember, I think I made boudoir pillows and embroidered witheringly sarcastic sayings about 'a woman's place' on them. *Dust Hands* Feminist mission accomplished.
By Sarah Snider5 years ago in Humans
The Art of Living
Her presence commands the attention of all—she is the sunshine personified. Although generally adorned in dazzling shades of turquoise silks and a 1000-kilowatt smile, those who know her understand that her show-stopping exterior is but a pale reflection of the vastness of her heart.
By Dré Pontbriand5 years ago in Humans
Majestic Skies Over Fruited Plains
After having moved from Pennsylvania to North Carolina in 1987, It became part of my routine to make the trek back to visit family at least once a year. Wintertime drives could be treacherous when a large snowfall could make traveling slow and quite slippery, however making the trek during the summertime was a completely different experience.
By Mary Kamerer5 years ago in Humans
Line upon line
Up until a dozen years ago, I was an almost Working Actor, and I just loved what I did. And I was damn good at it, too. I relished playing difficult characters because it allowed my imagination to run wild, and get away with bad behavior safely on the stage or screen. I was truly in my element.
By David Pringle5 years ago in Humans
It's something to share!
I’ve been a writer for as long as I can remember. At the tender age of seven, I wrote stories called The Evil Apple, Killer Babysitter, and How I tied my shoe with spaghetti. Sure, the stories were three pages long, full of grammatical errors, and made no sense, but they were proof that I was a natural-born writer.
By Rayna Scott5 years ago in Humans
When I Cut
Let’s begin at the end: I lift my scissors, take a deep breath, and cut. The cloth I have woven falls free from the loom, limp and lovely, freed at last from the tension of the loom, draping as I have never seen it before. If I am skillful and lucky and have been working on a well-built, precisely square loom, the new length of fabric does not twist. Its selvedges are reasonably straight. It has the ‘hand’ required for whatever use I have in mind. It is long enough and wide enough to become something more than a length of fabric.
By Rose Kleidon5 years ago in Humans
How does contemporary art reflect our society?
You can call contemporary art as a reflection of the society. If you can deep dive and explore contemporary art, you will figure out all the reasons available for us to call like that. In fact, contemporary art is translating the experiences and values of people who live out there in the society. This fact has even been proven from the deep studies that were conducted on contemporary art as well.
By Michelle Morgan5 years ago in Humans
Holi !!
Holi, also known as the Color Festival, is one of the most popular festivals in Nepal. It occurs on the day of the full moon in the month of Nepali Fagu (February to March in the Sun Calendar) and lasts for two days. The festival takes place from March 20 to 21, 2019, and from March 9 to 10, 2020. After Dashain and Tihar Festival, Holi was celebrated with a victory over evil and the coming of spring. During this colorful festival, visitors from Nepal and abroad will pour in dried flour and colored water to express their sincere blessings and good wishes.
By prashant sapkota5 years ago in Humans
The Admirable Mathias Cox
Mathias was thinking about Kathy again. Kathy Smart was a cowardly friend with brunette eyelashes and beautiful fingers. Mathias walked over to the window and reflected on his cosy surroundings. He had always loved chilly Dallas with its tired, testy trees. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel lonely.
By Francis Sereva5 years ago in Humans
Him
His eyes were deep blue but soft. The kind of rough that glides across the tip of your fingers like water pulling sand off the beach. He wasn't tall but tall enough. His hair, black and curly. complementing his eyes almost as much as the blue modal long sleeve he was wearing. His beard was long and scruffy but I could see his skin was pale and smooth underneath, shaping his lips like a drop of water rippling the surface. He dressed casual. his casual was clean and his Liz Clainorne cologne lurked around me making it hard to breathe, making it hard to stand still, coagulating any kind of blood flow to my head. His voice was deep, raspy almost. You could hear the compassion but it was stern and assuring. His hands were bridle and dry, daddy always told me a man with beaten hands Is a man with a healing heart. He was cloying, every inch of him. Hanging my head trying to hide my pale freckled skin that seemed to detail in the sun. Dragging my toes through the sand twirling my hair between my thin fingers like my mother used to do. Making her long thin hair naturally curly. It exasperated me as a child, here I find myself doing it. I deliberately nudged his shoulder hoping it would start even the slightest conversation. He was a raconteur, you could tell just by the way he held himself. He was witty and a storyteller, lucky for me so was I or I thought I was at least. ”sorry” he muffled out, not even picking his head up. ”thats okay” I managed to get out through the stone that laid in the bottom of my dry, itchy throat. I remember i kept walking. A million things were rolling through my mind like stones rolling down a mountain crashing into dry bridle clay, leaving dust that fogged what little vision I had left ”what do I do” I murmured to myself. I felt a slight tap on my shoulder, making every nerve in my body tingle with what felt like integrety. ”Excuse me” ill never forget his voice hitting the back of my neck abetting and diffusing any train of thought I had. ”do I know you” he spoke again softly. No, but I would love to know you I thought to myself at the time. The wind blushing his pale skin. ”no I don't believe so, I'm not from here”. knowing damn good and well that I was stuck in this shit hole of a town I sadly called home. For a min he sat there, as if he were contemplating whether he knew me or not, or observing my face. I could feel the sweat rolling down my chest. ”shit” I murmured. I couldn't breathe again. ”what?” he said, with concern in his voice. ”what?” I said, not even realizing I just said what I said aloud. I put my hand to my chest, making sure I was still breathing. ”nothing” I pushed out ”its nothing, no I'm sorry I do not know you”. ”oh okay” he said. ”well I'll let you go now.” the moment was almost fervid. Odd but breath taking. Because who knew I would simply, let him walk away. Why did he turn around to adress me? He didnt even pick up his head, he couldnt have seen my face? I didn't even know I was capable of letting someone so blithe go, I myself was blithe and it takes one to know one. Despite the urge of wanting to chase you like some sappy fairytale, or get your number, it is that day in time id assume. I watched you walk away leaving me with nothing but urge and curiosity. Who were you? why did I need to know you ? i remember thinking that to myself....
By Lauren mae 5 years ago in Humans
