Raphaël Pichon led the Orchestra of St. Luke’s in a take on Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony that, with an added prelude, unfurled as a barrage of ideas. https://t.co/PGARSjDMum

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Prepare for the Latin Grammys on Thursday with a playlist of songs by nominated artists: Karol G, Sued Nunes, Ivan Cornejo and more. https://t.co/7f10x17h9U

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🎨 Art has the incredible power to transform spaces and minds. Each brushstroke tells a story and each piece invites us to see the world through a different lens. Let’s celebrate the creativity that connects us all! #ArtInspiration #CreativeJourney

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…”

Rosslyn Chapel - Heinrich Hansen

🎨 What's your favorite art movement and why? Do you lean towards the bold colors of Impressionism, the stark contrasts of Minimalism, or perhaps the emotional depth of Expressionism? Share your thoughts and let's spark a colorful discussion! #ArtTalk #CreativeCommunity 🖌️✨

I..i jus..iuno

i dont know anymore
wasn't this suppose to be home?
parents and their kids have issues
from yelling to hitting to leaving to drugs

well thats my life
always yelling, being hit, always leaving, on drugs to much
its not going to change
my life isn't worth much anymore
it never was actually...

i told my dad he's a fucking prick
his reaction...
he threw a glass ashtray at me
thats ok though;
being on all sorts of pills
no pain what so ever

my dad will get it back
all the stuff he's put me through
his time will come
i will not say though
it will just happen

for now
im packing up
and going home once again
but it wont change much
just wont have to put up with dad
everything else will be the same

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Why do books about writing keep getting published? These conversations are a reminder that a writing career is not some ideal flight of fancy but a job like any other https://t.co/MbtLVqd09j

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Landscape with Oxen - Balthus

Floral Digital Artwork by Siobhan Odwyer, Digital on Other, 24 x 36 in - Photorealism Original Artwork For Sale on Saatchi Art. digital artwork

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🎨 Embrace the chaos of creativity! Every brushstroke, every line tells a unique story waiting to unfold. Let your imagination run wild and transform the ordinary into the extraordinary! #ArtInspiration #CreativeProcess 🌟✨

The Valley of the Loue in Stormy Weather - Gustave Courbet