🎨✨ What role does art play in shaping our identity? Is it a reflection of who we are, or does it shape our perceptions of ourselves? Share your thoughts and favorite examples! #ArtDiscussion #IdentityInArt

By remembering the robust glory of heaven we are easily able to despise the fickle & transient glory of the world.

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…”

Upper Twin Lakes in the Colorado Rockies - David Johnson

🎨 The beauty of art lies in its ability to transcend boundaries and connect us all. Each brushstroke tells a story, each color evokes emotion. Let's celebrate creativity and the unique perspectives it brings to our world! 🌟 #ArtLove #CreativeCommunity

2. Anonymity

The less personal information an account gives, the more likely it is to be a Bot. 

The only unique feature is a link to a US-based political action committee:

Blackmantrump gives no personal information at all. There is thus no indication of what person lies behind the account.

Death of Marat I - Edvard Munch

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.

Purple Terminology & Rainbow Clouds

Light winged smoke, the one to blame,
Creeping out from my minds clear flame.
Silvery surface of my imagination,
Fading to black, from all accusation.
I lay upon the midnights shadowy skirts,
Watching black moonbeams with the stars emberresed.
Heavenly leisure, waiting over the top,
But I keep falling, I cant seem to stop.
Purple terminology filling me instead,
Of red or yellow flowers buds, opening their heads.
Great waves from an ocean so blue,
I heed not this, buts its monsters, always true.
Whats left, in this world thats fake?
Just I, rusting with the mistakes.
Rainbow clouds of sweet lullaby,
Take me now, I'm ready to die.

Excited to announce the launch of 'Zero 10' a new global, multi-year initiative for art of the digital era at Art Basel.

We're kicking this off at Art Basel Miami Beach Dec 3-7. 10,000 sq ft of exhibition space on the main show floor.

Not upstairs, not offsite. This will be https://t.co/9FcJA42lgz

Le Patissier. Coree - Paul Jacoulet