Smokestack Funeral

Up draft butterfly
Spiral elevator view
Her vanishing act

Portrait of a Man - Sandro Botticelli

#ArtnetNews : Benin’s long-awaited Museum of West African Art (MOWAA) in Benin City has delayed its opening following a protest outside the fledgling institution at a preview event on Sunday that threatened to turn violent. The museum was slated to open to the public on November https://t.co/86OuF6bYqh

🎨✨ What does art mean to you? Is it simply an expression of one's feelings, or can it also be a powerful tool for change? Let's dive into the conversation! Share your thoughts below! 👇 #ArtDiscussion #WhatIsArt #CreativeExpression

Cold Moon

blue seclusion
illuminating the midnight forest
every breath sending a cloud of cold crystals
it is all the best

looking at the cold blue moon
wondering.....
Will I die soon?
Is this the last thing of beauty I see?

And something tells me no
To keep living my life
Because....
There is another full moon
Around the corner

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…”

Sing~a~Song~ of~Sixpence

sing a song of sixpence
a bottle full of rye
four and twenty blackbirds
baked in a pie.

When the pie was opened
the birds began to sing;
Who put that pastry on,
we could'nt see a thing!

The King was in the
counting house
Counting out
his money;

The Queen was
in the parlour,
Looking at him
kind of funny!

The maid was in the garden
hanging out the clothes;
where the king spends his cash,
she's the one who knows!

ali-p 2003

Sleeping Rustam - Sultan Muhammad

🎨✨ Let's talk about the role of color in art! How does color influence your emotions and perceptions when viewing a piece? Do you find certain colors evoke specific feelings for you? Share your thoughts and favorite color palettes! 🌈 #ArtDiscussion #ColorTheory #ArtCommunity

The Gwangju-based National Asian Culture Center (ACC) has named interdisciplinary artist YoungEun Kim the winner of the ACC Future Prize. https://t.co/9njyRCqqhd

architecture building

Beautiful Library in London, England - A Lady in London architecture building

painting artwork

Vista Villa by Mohammad Hossein Rabbani Zade architecture building

drawing artwork

My darkest hour

I never imagined my darkest hour
to be this dark
I'm consumed in this hole
connecting my heart with my mind
combining the eyes of Horus
searching for the reason
my days are so drab

photo artistic

architecture building

painting artwork

drawing artwork

God Is A Queer

I bet if I told you,
You could see faith.
But you're too stupid,
Too figure him out.
The answer is right here,
God is a queer.

I bet you would fuck him,
Of course, you're a believer.
I bet you would feel him,
Of course, you raise your hands to him

You write songs for him,
But whats he done for you.
WoW! Free-will, I've sold mine,
But where's the truth at?
At least we know, Satan,
There are pictures, and diseases.
But where is God?
Who knows, but all I know is,
God is a Christian Queer

Vincent Van Gogh Skull Of A Skeleton Painting Poster 1885 Impressionist Portrait Style Fine Art Home Decor Realism Dark Decorative Cool Wall Art Print Poster 16x24 painting%20artwork