🎨 Embracing creativity can transform the ordinary into the extraordinary. Every brushstroke and color choice tells a story that connects us all. Let's celebrate the beauty of art in all its forms today! #ArtInspiration #CreativeExpression #ArtLovers

Bar Wench

Lovely young lasses
With empty beer glasses
Serving throughout the bar.

Their sashay of asses
Deftly avoiding the masses.
Young men thinking they'll get far.

A mind on chemistry classes,
Inert and noble gasses,
This one has a full jar.

With a hair flip she sasses,
Another man she passes,
Her dreams upon a farther star.

🎨 Embracing the beauty of imperfection! Art is a journey where every stroke tells a story, and every flaw adds character. Let's celebrate the unique expressions that make our creativity shine. #Art #Creativity #Inspiration

🎨 Embracing the beauty of imperfection in art reminds us that every stroke tells a story. It's not just about creating something beautiful; it's about expressing our unique journeys. Let each piece reflect the raw and real! #ArtInspiration #Creativity #ImperfectlyPerfect

The Power Of The Written Word

The influence of the printed word in every area of public communication was insistent and powerful not merely because of the quantity of printed matter but because of its monopoly. If you wanted to exchange ideas, you did so in a pamphlet, a debate forum, or a lecture.

These were all places where the form of printed language lent itself to a more sophisticated and elegant content. Lectures and debates didn’t sound like idle conversation—they sounded like writing. 

One Way

My face dry and burnt from the afternoon sun,
Facing toward forever.
Behind me, a world of pain and anguish,
One step forward, a solution.

They yell from below,
But their voices are trivial.
They didn't care then,
They don't care now.
Slowly breathing,
There's no turning back.
I let myself fly,
The wind on my side,
And soar from the peak of despair.

Falling into an endless ocean of darkness,
Into the pain, that no one bothered to notice.
Ripping the air,
Like a knife plunged deep,
A blur out the window,
To those who would cynically glance.
A waste of skin,
A waste of time,
A waste of life.

Blessed,
Sweet,
Pavement...

Saint Casimir - Jan Matejko

The vintage #yohjiyamamoto on display at the theLNCC concept store Dalston #london . #fashion only till 10.11 https://t.co/u37x9zOkiG https://t.co/zt0xc04EbA

Following Zohran Mamdani‘s historic win as Mayor of New York City, the art world has weighed in, with many artists, curators, and critics based in the city—and even some situated in locales beyond New York—responding to his victory with hope and joy.

Read more: https://t.co/paPRkFZsC9

#ArtBaselStories : Women collectors are outspending men — and taking bigger, smarter risks. The latest Art Basel & UBS Survey of Global Collecting reveals a generation of women reshaping the market.

Learn more: https://t.co/A0tQDnj0Vj https://t.co/QJajutyb3h

architecture building

Country path painting, Meadow landscape artwork, Sunrise oil painting, Pink sky art, Small artwork for country living room, Brown framed art painting artwork

Parting Ways (The Day The Music Died)

The last note still ringing in his ears, the night’s events still swirling around in his head, he walks out of the door into the warm evening air.  The entire atmosphere is one of joyous sadness.  Emotions course through the air, giving it some sort of charge.  The next morning shall be the last exchange of the drink of the fruit of passion, and yet the solemn first for him.  Later tomorrow he knows, they all know, that they must part ways.  They must all leave their oasis of comfort and security to dive again into the vast sea of reality, of conformity.  Yet still they cherish it, hold on to it.  Even in the last moments of such a magical night, they open their minds, their hearts, open their souls to each other and learn to love that which is there in what others have exposed.  The chants of “…MORE, MORE, MORE, MORE” truly resound in not only everyone’s thoughts but in their utmost desires.  

Late that night, lying in that same old bed for the last time, gazing up at the concrete ceiling.  Finally, his thoughts allowed to sit and slowly filter out.  Shock, insubordinate yet knowingly unjust anger.  A few muttered words from the other side of the room, a brief agreement of opinions. Then silence.  The hazy recollection of events over the past three weeks, the bittersweet insanity which so marked each and every day.  The mistakes made, the friendships formed, the battles lost and won.  And as all of this starts to settle down into a gentle murmur, he drifts off into sleep.

The next morning, torn from the warm embrace of his frail sheets, down to the circle, sips from the glass, toasts to a fallen comrade.  Soon enough the group all progressed to go through their daily routines one final time.  They returned to what they knew was the inevitable.

They were there, it was time to be rounded up and brought back to their respective lives.  Tears were shed, last goodbyes, every single one of them joined as one united being, as one entity separate from their single selves.  Each and every one of them will never leave the spot they were when they knew it was time they had to leave.  Those who knew they could never return let fall the rains of their misery.  Their true love for something so intangible yet so true and so real ripped apart their true selves and lovingly joined their true selves back together in an instant.

But, as inevitabilities go, by midday it was empty and silent.  Once could almost feel on the air all that had occurred there so few hours ago.  That evening, He finally lay in bed before sleep.  All were dispersed from that place they cherished so dear, back in the true world but thinking of naught but what they had left behind.

And all at once, without warning, from places near and far came the sound of 300 voices:  “This will be the day that I die…”

Former David Zwirner director Leo Xu discussed the major changes now taking place in the Chinese art market. https://t.co/bi5Sm073yO

And Who Knoweth Whether He Shall Be a Wise Man Or a Fool - Byam Shaw