faked frenzied in freaked out falsity
momentary memory framed like in a gallery
a posed picture; window tab tailored life
poised pretend pretty petty posture
your moment by moment in living fright
if anyone found out right.
The art gallery was filled with paintings form several different artists all over the world. I happened to stand in front of one that was of a couple dancing together in the rain. It made me feel like they were so happy together, and that nothing could come between them. The colors the artist had chosen to use were perfect. The greys and the ble
she wanders in a gallery of painted faces, and when one of them speaks, she is surprised.
because the eyes of the blind see what we try most to hide.
All around her Rembrandt faces and Crayola masks blend and warp, and it is only the mime’s sorrowful eyes that remind her.
a thousand wordless voices and thirty sightless eyes. can you see what is presented before you?
they ask, but she does not answer.
mothers fathers brothers sisters, teacher, friend, lover, neighbor. all the opinions clash. and she is confused.
Its a gallery of emotions. We don’t really know people until we’ve explored each of them. We see them depressed, excited, sad, happy, joyful. People don’t show these to one another until they can trust one another. The gallery of emotions, a way to tell who believes you are a good friend.
He was not one to be fond of art galleries, but she made them interesting. She would point out every interesting and symbolic aspect to him, and suddenly it all made sense. He never understood them on his own, but with her, art galleries made sense.
I used to dance at a place called the Dance Gallery. For a few years I spent upwards of 20 hours a week there, learning tap, jazz, modern, funk, modern, ballet, everything. It was some of the best experiences of my life, and some amazing friends came from it.
i feel paintings everywhere and colours and people meeting to look at art and everyone has got wine and there are relationships that has gone bad, and good and everything and feelings lingers in the air with none to catch them, for they are all blind of love for themselves.
As we walked into the gallery show, the noise from outside seemed nonexistant. The only substance was the art in front of us. We didn’t need to pretend to understand the deeper, pretentious meanings behind it, because there were none. It simply was.
we stood behind the ropes, awed by the spectacle before us. The actors, though, were not as impressive as the clothes, the flashing cameras, the bodyguards with the
She walked into the room to see hundreds of men and women stuck on the walls. Some were hung by glue, some where nailed to the wall (through their clothes, don’t be so gruesome), and some had spent so much time being on display, that their skin now kept them there. Welcome to the show.
Womb Gallery in OKC. It’s kind of crazy, definitely psychedelic, and plenty colorful. There’s music and art. On a busy night it’s a swirl of colors, sound, and light.
it’s a beautiful place. i wish i could drown in all this art. they say life imitates art and vice versa. i want to live in art and be immortalized in this gallery.
I went up the alley while wandering around this strange new land. It seemed foreign yet familiar at the same time. As I walked, I saw a gallery along one of the side streets. It was beautiful.
IN THE GALLERY WE GATHERED AND REALISED THAT THE REASON WE WERE THERE WAS UNKNOWN TO US AND TO EVERYONE ELSE UNTIL THE TEACHER WALKED IN AND BEGAN TO EXPLAIN OUR TASK, WE WHERE TO GROUP ALL THE CREATIONS INTO CLASSES
Down the gallery hall Jane slid, her shoes abandoned and her striped socks warming up from the friction. The museum was hers for the night, all thanks to overhearing that the security system was down…and that convenient large Chinese jar.
art gallery game gallery paintings losts of art m f hussain just this i dont have anything else to write about it what to say cycle painting three girls
The photos that always make you tear up when you see them because you miss the good old days, when you didn’t have to worry so much about everything freaking little thing.
faked frenzied in freaked out falsity
momentary memory framed like in a gallery
a posed picture; window tab tailored life
poised pretend pretty petty posture
your moment by moment in living fright
if anyone found out right.
The art gallery was filled with paintings form several different artists all over the world. I happened to stand in front of one that was of a couple dancing together in the rain. It made me feel like they were so happy together, and that nothing could come between them. The colors the artist had chosen to use were perfect. The greys and the ble
In her soul’s gallery
(Define and draw
on every page
painted panes
with fragile frames
the sequenced sequins,
just your names
Then you’ll see you
as I do
Stop. Sensation
stimulate
Twined together
inseminate
Silence
Love
to Investigate)
she wanders in a gallery of painted faces, and when one of them speaks, she is surprised.
because the eyes of the blind see what we try most to hide.
All around her Rembrandt faces and Crayola masks blend and warp, and it is only the mime’s sorrowful eyes that remind her.
a thousand wordless voices and thirty sightless eyes. can you see what is presented before you?
they ask, but she does not answer.
mothers fathers brothers sisters, teacher, friend, lover, neighbor. all the opinions clash. and she is confused.
Its a gallery of emotions. We don’t really know people until we’ve explored each of them. We see them depressed, excited, sad, happy, joyful. People don’t show these to one another until they can trust one another. The gallery of emotions, a way to tell who believes you are a good friend.
He was not one to be fond of art galleries, but she made them interesting. She would point out every interesting and symbolic aspect to him, and suddenly it all made sense. He never understood them on his own, but with her, art galleries made sense.
I used to dance at a place called the Dance Gallery. For a few years I spent upwards of 20 hours a week there, learning tap, jazz, modern, funk, modern, ballet, everything. It was some of the best experiences of my life, and some amazing friends came from it.
i feel paintings everywhere and colours and people meeting to look at art and everyone has got wine and there are relationships that has gone bad, and good and everything and feelings lingers in the air with none to catch them, for they are all blind of love for themselves.
As we walked into the gallery show, the noise from outside seemed nonexistant. The only substance was the art in front of us. We didn’t need to pretend to understand the deeper, pretentious meanings behind it, because there were none. It simply was.
we stood behind the ropes, awed by the spectacle before us. The actors, though, were not as impressive as the clothes, the flashing cameras, the bodyguards with the
A place to display your special, unique artwork. A showcase of creative art, music, culture. Somewhat like a museum.
A rogue’s gallery of second-story men, purse-snatchers, pickpockets, flim-flammers and every other kind of petty thief stared down at her.
She walked into the room to see hundreds of men and women stuck on the walls. Some were hung by glue, some where nailed to the wall (through their clothes, don’t be so gruesome), and some had spent so much time being on display, that their skin now kept them there. Welcome to the show.
Womb Gallery in OKC. It’s kind of crazy, definitely psychedelic, and plenty colorful. There’s music and art. On a busy night it’s a swirl of colors, sound, and light.
The visit to St Petersburg was really interesting and the Hermitage had such a wonderful gallery of exhibits.
it’s a beautiful place. i wish i could drown in all this art. they say life imitates art and vice versa. i want to live in art and be immortalized in this gallery.
I went up the alley while wandering around this strange new land. It seemed foreign yet familiar at the same time. As I walked, I saw a gallery along one of the side streets. It was beautiful.
I have a
secret gallery
Tricky treasures
for me
and my lust
look at all the beauty you’ve created
because i hurt you
(you owe me
half the profit.)
The art gallery was an amazing sight to see. My favorite one was the church painting by Vincent Van Gough.
IN THE GALLERY WE GATHERED AND REALISED THAT THE REASON WE WERE THERE WAS UNKNOWN TO US AND TO EVERYONE ELSE UNTIL THE TEACHER WALKED IN AND BEGAN TO EXPLAIN OUR TASK, WE WHERE TO GROUP ALL THE CREATIONS INTO CLASSES
Faces on display with pieces of sunshine
Dirty faces who are brave enough to face the fire
I want them near me
In my house.
So I can stare at them.
Down the gallery hall Jane slid, her shoes abandoned and her striped socks warming up from the friction. The museum was hers for the night, all thanks to overhearing that the security system was down…and that convenient large Chinese jar.
art gallery game gallery paintings losts of art m f hussain just this i dont have anything else to write about it what to say cycle painting three girls
The photos that always make you tear up when you see them because you miss the good old days, when you didn’t have to worry so much about everything freaking little thing.
honeymoon