The Philadelphia Art Museum’s board of trustees dismissed former director and chief executive Sasha Suda last week, three years into her five-year contract https://t.co/HAe5ZScMhi

With their slow-mo punch sequences and actors’ body transformations, pugilistic films from “Rocky” to “Christy” have aimed for the academy’s approval. https://t.co/96PVfkun2M

🎨✨ Exploring the beauty of abstract art today! Each brushstroke tells a story, inviting us to feel beyond the familiar. Let your imagination roam free and find your own meaning in the chaos. #AbstractArt #ArtInspiration #CreativityUnleashed

Pressed

Were you thinking of me today
Am i ever what your thinking to say
Do you ever wonder about where i go
Ever wish you were there with me though?
I wonder where you are right now
Am i all alone somehow
No trust in myself
Not looking for help
Just wondering about all the things that were said
Did you mean what you said in my bed
Sorry for putting you there
All i wanted to do was care
Now you are lost and ive gone missing
Was it in my mind you and i were kissing
What have i done did i do it again
Did i fuck it all up to lose another friend
Now can i stop trying
Cause in this house im dying
They give me shit day in day out
All they ever fucking do is shout
Im trying to forgive myself for what ive done
These bruises and cuts have just begun
They settled me down pressed the pain within
Pressed in so deep it broke through the skin
Oh how it burns blood mixed with tears
Of all the pain i held through the years
Im cold weak and lonely
Im not waiting for you to start actin phony
Here we go i take my last breath
Wonder what theyll say now that i left...

🎨 Embracing the beauty of imperfection in art can lead to the most profound creations. It's in the cracks and flaws that true character shines through. Celebrate your unique artistic journey! #ArtInspiration #CreativeProcess

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…”

For the children of Performa, the sound of art Is a buzz and a growl. A performance art biennial includes the students at a Brooklyn school. https://t.co/sCvny5cUIV

A global interest in all things cosy

Cosiness is a broad concept. It is a feeling of refuge, comfort and wellbeing. It is the idea of being in a space where you feel completely content and at ease.

During the pandemic, global interest in all things cosy has risen. Across interiors products, keywords related to cosy living rose 46% in the UK and 11% in the US. "Cacooning" was one of Pinterests' top trends for 2021, and "cosy aesthetic outfits" rose 100% from last year.

A Suicide Bombing

An unimaginably loud explosion,
Is followed by broken glass,
And the screams of women and children,
Who are caught up in the blast.

They are caught up in a conflict,
It is catching up with all their lives,
It hasn’t asked for what it’s taken,
And it won’t apologise.

The people open their eyes,
Or at least all those who can,
They don’t want to see the damage,
Dealt by the bombers hand.

They survey all the bleeding,
They hear the cries of pain,
They struggle to comprehend this,
And they start to feel the strain.

A half a dozen are dead,
Fathers, mothers and sons,
And no one can answer the question:
In all this loss, just who has won?

What would drive a person
To board a bus with this in his head?
The survivors don’t know the reason,
Anyone who does is probably dead.

If you could

if you could read some ones mind
do you every wounder what you'll find
maybe a mind full of hopes an wonderful dreams
or of thoughts of death an an not so good things
would you use it to your advantage to make people see the damage
or the warmness of there heart an not the darkness in every part
if you could read my mine do you wounder what you would find
wrote between the lines??

Sure, the" target="_blank" class="inline-link">http://fourminutebooks.com... first summaries on here  aren’t nearly as good as some of the newer ones, but being okay with producing something that’s not as good is exactly what I needed to do before I was able to get here in the first place.

You have a right to create. No matter where you’re starting from. Whether you have always had a talent, or start at absolute zero. Tell yourself that. Say it out loud.

Bullshit and Black

I'm about to give up on people.
Them and all their bullshit.

I want to crawl back in my hole.
Where the solitude is peaceful.

I'd be better off without them.
They wouldn't be able to hurt me.

I want a darkness to surround me.
I'll soak up all it's wonders.

I don't exist to them.
I'm just a figment of their imaginations.

I exist only in my head.
Only here I am safe.

They constantly ignore me.
Though I try to be their friend.

I want the darkness to take me.
Here, I can't be hurt.

I want to give up on people.
All the heartache they cause.

I want to live in my mind.
Alone, dark, and safe is all I want.

Snowy Weather at Veneux Nadon - Alfred Sisley

Boulevard des Italiens - Gustave Caillebotte

Weakening Strength

I’m weak and tired,
shaky and damaged.
Why does strength make me
weak?
Why every time I stand strong
do I shake and inside,
turn meek?
Strength rips off my flesh
and tears my insides
so the timid, helpless child
can no longer hide—
No longer hide
the tears, the screams
the slashing, the gashing,
the moaning the pain,
the ashes, the crashes,
the rain, no gain.
Strength grabs me, it stabs me
and sets me afire;
it slaps me, it snaps me,
running me down
to the mud and the mire.
I walk proudly
as strength kills me from the
inside out.
I scream and shout
but my pain reaches not one ear
while I fall and shake,
cry and break;
yelling for something to save
me,
for strength to stop raping me
and killing me
with every breath I take.

I am

          I am a poet writing of my pain
          I am a girl living a life of shame
          I am he one who you made insane
          I am a person wanting to know more
          I am the one who you showed the door
          I am the one who you will never know
          I am the one who'll let you go
          Because i am the one who will end the show

🎨✨ Art lovers, what’s your take? If you could only choose one art movement to define your style, which would it be and why? 🖌️ #ArtDiscussion #ArtMovements #CreativeCommunity

Blue Fan Dancer - Christian Rohlfs

painting artwork

Fireside

pay it forward community

Night of our moon

This world is a game of do or die
We refuse to see the tears as the children, they cry
We don't even stop to ask ourselves why
It's not that we're mean, we simply know not how to be so kind

And the moon rises over the rye
Eerily kissing the twilight goodbye
the moon rising over the rye

Blue skies are for the eagles wings
and sometimes, when the moon is up,the wind only seems to sing
of how, come dawn, the skies are free
it's beauty is shared by you and me

And the moon's disappearing into a blue sky
granting the eagles the freedom to fly
the moon disappearing into our blue sky

We have all had our share of sorrow and pain
Without this, may I ask you, would you really be sane
and though it is sad to see our loved ones leave
you'd be blind not to see how through
darkness the moon's light does weave

And as we look to the moon we're in tears
as we remember good times and past years
looking to the moonlight in tears

We have made it through the day, the moon is now in sight
Come now children, you've all been wronged
and you know this in the night
You ponder of how in the day the wrong could seem so right
You ignorance betrayed you, and did you really think
there could be a shadow not cast by light

And the moon comes to us in the night
through darkness comes hope with its pale silver light
the moon is with you in the night

Now it may just be me, but man,it seems, is overrated
But to you I'm a child, and so the poet has overstated
As you turn away from the truth, you cast your own shadow of doubt
And as you are engulfed in its darkness, your denial it echoed in shout

And as we watch the shadows dance on an eerie moonlit night
No longer ignorant, but innocent, no longer wrong nor right
Our lives had seemed so hollow, here their only an illusion
The wind is calling out my name. End of poem, my last conclusion

🎨✨ What's your favorite art movement and why? From the bold colors of Impressionism to the surreal dreamscapes of Dadaism, each has its own story to tell. Share your thoughts! #ArtDiscussion #ArtHistory #CreativeCommunity

Czóbel Béla Portrait De Jeune Femme - Bela Czobel

Watercolor Painting Art Print Giclee Print Sun Colorful Painting Wall Art Artwork Minimal Landscape Bird Painting Sun Art Abstract Artwork painting artwork